


love's a mystery

by teahex



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Background Sunaosa, Consistency i don't know her, Fluff, Food, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Rated teen for mild swearing, king of, mentioned bokuaka, mentioned kuroyaku, temporary illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teahex/pseuds/teahex
Summary: Silence in the shape of dread saturated the air on most cursed nights. It painted the skin in even layers and swaddled the lungs to the point of asphyxiation. Picture it as a bizarre piece of performance art in an exclusive gallery. Few were privy to the display save for those luckless enough to call themselves residents of the toy-sized town tucked amidst treacherous mountain ranges. Yet, even those with premium guest access simply pretended to understand the nature of the exhibit. It was a struggle to truly find beauty in that which kills.How can one be expected to solve a mystery when there’s a love interest to pursue?
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to make a lil 10 chapter fic for sakuatsu fluff week 2021 but ended up taking a pretty loose interpretation of fluff and the prompts, so *gestures* y’know. I appreciate you taking the time to read the product of some late-night writing sessions that I only vaguely remember!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two man job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: first times

Silence in the shape of dread saturated the air on most cursed nights. It painted the skin in even layers and swaddled the lungs to the point of asphyxiation. Picture it as a bizarre piece of performance art in an exclusive gallery. Few were privy to the display save for those luckless enough to call themselves residents of the toy-sized town tucked amidst treacherous mountain ranges. Yet, even those with premium guest access simply pretended to understand the nature of the exhibit. It was a struggle to truly find beauty in that which kills.

On other nights, hardship clattered into the room with little subtlety, forcing its way through the cracks under doors and down unused chimneys. It demanded attention, a celebrity unaccustomed to mundanity. There was something almost enchanting in the obvious. A simple and resigned trust formed between misfortune and the ill-fated. Predictability was comforting.

Sometimes the seesaw that is fate balanced perfectly for just an instant. It was long enough to let eerie quiet and dissonant noise mingle. The hush became noticeably, painfully loud. The din grew to elusive, unperceivable decibels.

If the universe was a clean sheet, it was in the center that the most recent disaster began. A hand at each corner of the unsuspecting dark hours held it loosely while gravity pulled a rock of condensed bad luck downwards, stretching the sturdy fabric. Every unsettling energy jostled for space where there was none.

At least twenty-three percent of the town’s residents contributed their voices to a grating cacophony, pleading for help. An abundance of letters had arrived during the day. Impatient others continued to deliver their written pleas late enough that no creature should want to be out, easily sliding envelopes through the spaces in the iron gates marking the entrance to the property of the fox-eared Miya twins.

Only ten or sixteen or so letters were opened and read thoroughly. The rest were skimmed or left for another time. The contents of the initial five had suggested that every person was experiencing problems of a similar nature. The next five had seemed to be enough to confirm that such was the case. The next several had alleviated any lingering uncertainties.

It was not for the first time that Miya Atsumu bemoaned the responsibilities of being a local guardian spirit. It was, however, a new experience to receive such an influx of requests at once and with the expectation of addressing the matter alone. If Atsumu weren’t a god of sorts himself, he might take this as a sign that this mystery was too cumbersome for him to handle. He was a god, though, so who was there to give him signs?

Atsumu conveyed as much to his brother the next morning. He was attempting to control the overgrown piles of mail invading their home, clearing the table for breakfast as Osamu prepared their food. It wasn’t a conversation unlike their usual discussions about any problem sprouting in their irrational town. Atsumu could almost forget that this was several times the scale of their typical cases.

“You’re being awfully dramatic about this whole thing, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu chided, sentence punctuated with a wet cough.

“It’s a lot of people to appease all at once,” Atsumu whined, tail swishing in agitation. “Are you sure you’re sick? Can gods even get sick?”

“Sure, sure.” Osamu elbowed Atsumu out of his space as he folded his second omelet of the morning. “Maybe someone left a bad offering at the shrine. Wait. What if they vandalized the place? That'd be hilarious.”

“That’s not how it works, ‘Samu. Besides, we’d have to clean up any messes.” Atsumu’s thoughts drifted to one of the first letters he had read. There had been mentions of mild, cold-like symptoms before a sudden and severe decline. He shook his head, reminding himself of the improbabilities. Gods didn't catch illnesses. Atsumu tried not to admit to himself that normal ailments didn’t typically affect so much of a town’s population in one go.

“Just stop by the bookstore and do a little research while you’re out.” Osamu slid the omelet over a plate of rice, finishing his serving of their meal. “I’ll be in top shape by the time anything actually needs getting done. You’ll hardly have to make yourself useful, same as always.”

Atsumu carried both plates to the table, silently noting another cough from Osamu, as he shot back, “I do plenty. You’d get nothing done without me.”

“Whatever you say, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu sat across from Atsumu, purposefully ignoring his brother’s attentive gaze and focusing on the food. “Honestly, you might have the harder part. Have you ever tried holding an actual conversation with that prickly guy?”

Atsumu used the excuse of eating several bites to consider the subject of Osamu’s question. The bookseller who Atsumu and Osamu used as their primary source of information was the only mystery in town that neither Atsumu nor Osamu wanted to solve. The warnings given by almost every resident described the bibliophile as a harbinger of death. Such claims had the signs of being overused and overdramatic gossip, unremovable stains from too much loaning and borrowing between people and fraying from countless cycles in the washing machine on a setting somewhere between fear of the unknown and suspicion of the unagreeable. Nonetheless, the twins sensed a drop of truth to the rumors, and they had long ago learned to trust their unearthly intuitions.

Even if Atsumu wanted to understand the man, he was more elusive than any other entity Atsumu had ever known. Within a week of opening his small bookstore, he had hired two employees to manage any duties requiring social skills, effectively making himself more intriguing and less accessible.

“You haven’t either,” Atsumu finally muttered around a mouthful of rice and egg. “You’re always chatting with Shouyou or Keiji and asking them for stuff we need. The guy never give us any actual customer service.”

“Just don’t do anything impulsive, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu advised. “Now’s really not a good time for you to bring on the wrath of whatever the hell he is.”

 _You’ve already got something trying to mess with you_ , Atsumu thought to himself. The hoard of letters, Osamu’s light but persistent cough, and Atsumu’s own unease were enough to indicate that there were greater worries than the unsociable man who worked along the main road.

“I’ll hardly say a word to him,” Atsumu promised aloud. “If I need anything, I’ll get Shouyou to help me out.”

“Check the directory while you’re there too,” Osamu added. “I want to keep the details straight about who’s sick.”

Atsumu already had the sketch in his mind of who the culprit was targeting as the ideal victims for whatever was troubling their town. Somewhere between too old to be doted on and too young to be wise. Both humans and spirits alike, although the symptoms differed. Previously healthy. Living with at least one other person.

::

There was peace in the predictable. Diligence and care gave shape to prosperity and good health. It was an easy formula for success. Pot the plant in a container of this size. Place the plant in direct sunlight. Water the plant once every two weeks. Lightly beat exactly two eggs with vanilla. Use milk bread. Fry with oil. There were reliable steps to follow that ensured an ideal outcome. 

Under such stipulations, illness was not itself a bad omen. It was an avoidable inconvenience. Wash your hands. Get sufficient amounts of sleep. Eat three healthy meals a day. Stay hydrated. Don't upset any spirits of pestilence.

Sickness was simply an unwanted condition that, like most irritations, was preventable. Unnecessary noise was another preventable annoyance, and so Sakusa Kiyoomi returned the phone to the receiver with utmost care. He could have hung up roughly, allowing his frustration to seep into his movements, but he was deliberate in all areas of his life. He reminded himself that he controlled himself and not others. If his hired help was distracted from their own wellbeing, there was nothing he could do.

Nonetheless, the phone call clung to Sakusa’s thoughts with the persistence of a mosquito in the middle of summer. Echoes of Hinata’s wet cough followed Sakusa through his opening routines. Sakusa felt his own skin flush hotter than was reasonable for the stick-your-face-in-the-freezer temperature that he kept the store at. He paused in front of a particularly dusty shelf as the floor seemed to shift beneath his feet.

“There’s nothing wrong. I’m being ridiculous,” Sakusa informed the empty room. He had slept for roughly eight hours and thirty-seven minutes the night before. He had eaten a home-cooked breakfast. He had drunk water and had more in the back room to drink throughout the day. It was the first day since hiring Akaashi and Hinata that he was alone in the bookstore.

Sakusa squeezed a breath out of his lungs, shoulders sagging as he forcibly banished the tension from his body. He unlocked the door and flipped the sign hanging in the window to indicate that the location was open to the public before making his way to the back room to retrieve cleaning supplies. Hinata had worked just two days before, so there was always the possibility that he had been asymptomatic at the time. A rigorous sterilization was warranted. Sakusa wasn’t expecting any customers who would need assistance beyond paying for items anyway. If there was a sudden rush, Sakusa could handle it until Akaashi arrived in the afternoon.

From the back room, Sakusa was unable to hear Atsumu enter the establishment. Atsumu’s heavy touch would have caused the squeaky hinges kind of door opening if Sakusa didn’t keep even the door in pristine condition. It’s the kind of thing that you only appreciate if you care about such minor details, though. Atsumu was not the sort of man who did. He was, however, the type to close doors with his foot, which he did at that moment. It shut behind him with a rattle that slithered in the building's walls.

Relief perched on Atsumu’s shoulder upon noticing the absence of Sakusa from behind the counter. It wasn’t exactly like he wanted to stay away from Sakusa the way he was hoping to dodge whatever illness was plaguing the town. It was closer to something like avoiding Sakusa the way he might refrain from talking to an old classmate he had embarrassed himself in front of once. The stakes were rather low if he was forced to exchange greetings.

That relief was quickly murdered by asphyxiation and dumped in a shallow stream by the cruel hands of disappointment when Atsumu realized that both Hinata and Akaashi were missing as well. There was no one present to shield Atsumu from the objectively harmless glares that Sakusa would typically subject him to. Sakusa never spoke more than ten words to Atsumu in any given interaction when both of the Miya twins visited, but the unnerving quiet combined with his dark gaze was enough to disrupt the easygoing equilibrium Atsumu normally maintained. It was as if Sakusa was reading him like one of those books and expecting to find something. Atsumu hadn't figured out what Sakusa was looking for, though.

Atsumu tried to take advantage of the opportunity for some privacy, knowing that he would undergo that unrelenting, albeit silent, scrutiny as soon as Sakusa returned. Hinata and Akaashi typically allowed Atsumu to peruse the literature undisturbed unless their help was required, especially when Osamu was there to provide them with the most engaging conversations Atsumu had ever witnessed from someone as outwardly impassive as Osamu when he wasn’t being provoked.

It was a stroke of bad luck that the small selection of books about magical illness had flown to positions more suitable to their likings. They were settled on a shelf that was only too high up by the amount it would take for a gear to be the wrong size to work, which is to say by not a lot. Atsumu questioned the intelligence of someone who owned shelves out of reach for even someone as tall as himself when the books had preferences of their own and the means to put themselves in inconvenient places.

Sakusa, oblivious to Atsumu’s predicament, was temporarily preoccupied from his plan to clean by a call on the phone in the back room. It was from Akaashi, who insisted that he go to work early to compensate for Hinata’s time off. The idea was one more alteration to Sakusa's meticulously perfected routine.

“I can work a full day. It’s not any trouble,” Akaashi stated.

"Don't overwork. Just come at your usual time." Sakusa didn't want to create a situation in which both Akaashi and Hinata were incapacitated.

"But Bokuto said that Atsumu and Osamu-" Akaashi stopped, abruptly cut off by a commotion loud enough for him to hear over the phone. It was something like a sudden downpour if rain was actually rocks instead of water.

It was comedic timing, really. Sakusa felt pressure build behind his left eye. He reminded himself that, despite the coincidental mention of the Miya twins at that exact moment, Akaashi had not actually summoned the Miya twins into the bookstore. 

"I apologize, Akaashi, but I have to check on that." Sakusa hung up without leaving time for the owl spirit to respond. He didn't slam the phone down, despite the urgency of checking on the state of his store.

The mess awaiting him wasn't exactly a bottled-tornado-released-inside level of disaster so much as it was slightly above a bored-cat-left-alone-with-objects-not-secured-to-any-surfaces degree of chaos. It was around the level of three or six cats left to their own devices. Books littered the floor, fragile stepping stones around the bookcase that had fallen. Well, saying it had fallen wasn't accurate. It had definitely been pulled over by one Miya Atsumu as he gripped it for balance while trying to retrieve some books.

Sakusa pinched the bridge of his nose. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

“Ah.” Atsumu pushed books off of himself and sat up. “Hey, Omi-Omi. Don’t mind me. I figured I’d give you a hand and organize your books.”

“We’re picking these up. Now.” One of the books in question fluttered towards Saksua and he plucked it from the air.

“Yes, sir,” Atsumu answered with a grin. He gathered a stack of books in his arms before standing to place them on the counter that Sakusa normally sat behind.

Sakusa contemplated his options. He could inquire about the whereabouts of Atsumu’s more contained brother. He could demand that Atsumu leave and not return without Osamu. He could ask for more information about why Atsumu was pulling over bookcases in his store. He could work in silence. He could ban Atsumu from entering his store ever again.

He chose to set books on the counter in neat stacks without any additional words spoken to Atsumu. Atsumu, on the other hand, decided to make the task more enjoyable with some friendly, or at least tolerable, conversation.

“So where’s Shouyou?” Atsumu would’ve preferred talking to the vibrant hired help. This whole situation would have been avoided if Hinata had been present. He would’ve floated up to the top shelf and coaxed the books down for Atsumu without complaint.

“I don’t give out my employees’ information,” Sakusa replied.

“Sheesh, Omi.” After the last of the books were placed out of the way, Atsumu positioned himself next to the fallen bookcase. “You know Shouyou and I are pals.”

Sakusa stood on the side of the bookcase opposite from Atsumu. “Then ask him yourself.”

Atsumu swallowed a retort and did his part in lifting the unwieldy furniture. His logical brain filled in for Osamu, reminding him that Sakusa was one of the last people he should aggravate. Poking at vaguely threatening entities with unknown capabilities was generally not conducive to self-preservation. His initial urges, however, demanded that he shake the can of soda, figuratively, to see what fun arose from the aftermath.

“‘Samu left all the work to me on this one,” Atsumu said, thinking aloud into the room more than speaking directly to Sakusa. Basic sentences seemed like a fair middleground. He could create some semblance of a substitute for the typical conversations he had with Hinata most days while minimizing the amount of irritation caused to Sakusa. It was a level of consideration sufficient for people less ill-tempered than Sakusa and greater than Atsumu usually afforded others.

Sakusa hummed in response as he began reshelving books. After refilling half of one shelf, he paused and examined Atsumu with the interest and objectivity one might give a weather forecast. It wasn’t that Sakusa disliked Atsumu or wished misfortune on him. Sakusa simply thought of Atsumu as an inevitable fact of life. The Miya twins nudged the welfare of the town in various directions with their involvement. It was important but a nuisance to factor in their behaviors when deciding one’s own actions.

“Which ones did you want?” Sakusa spoke in the flat tone of an announcer informing travelers that the next train was arriving. It barely sounded like a question with the tone of voice he had used. He punctuated the question-that-was-arguably-a-statement with a wave towards the books that they hadn’t placed on the shelves.

“The blue ones about magical illnesses.” Atsumu picked up an armful of books and shelved them.

Sakusa stopped, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

In between trips from the counter and the bookcase, Atsumu paused and held up his hands, palms outwards. “I promise I’m not sick. I’m probably the healthiest person in this town right now.”

“You don't want me to evaluate the accuracy of that statement, I'm assuming.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Atsumu thought of his brother. “Haven’t you noticed people getting sick? Like a lot of people.”

Sakusa recalled his earlier conversation on the phone with Hinata. He didn’t know of anyone else who picked up an unwanted ailment, but he also rarely exchanged words with more than five of the town’s residents.

“If you’ve been around someone contagious-”

“It’s magical, not the common cold. I doubt it spreads in the normal ways, Omi,” Atsumu groaned, returning to the task of shelving books.

“You’re hardly an expert on how that works. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Look, a bunch of people got sick. They don’t really have much to do with each other, so it seems random, but I don’t think a bunch of people randomly get sick all at once. ‘Samu has to take it easy in case he caught something too. Can spirits like us even have physical problems? Help a guy out here, Omi,” Atsumu rambled, hoping Sakusa would pity Atsumu more than Osamu typically did when Atsumu was desperate and forced to take sole responsibility for something.

Sakusa made a mental note to return to his originally intended task of sanitizing the whole store and placed it at the top of his list of priorities for after Atsumu left the premises. The Miya twins were part of the town’s balance, though. Sakusa would not be the one to ignore them in a time of need. Whether or not the need was dire was yet to be determined. Sakusa resigned himself to assisting Atsumu with his research needs. Besides, it was his job.

“You can borrow or buy them,” Sakusa said. He kept a safe distance from Atsumu as they shelved the last of the books, leaving aside three blue volumes.

"How long's the loan period?" With nothing left to occupy his hands, Atsumu shoved them in his pockets.

"Fourteen days." Sakusa walked behind the counter and rummaged through a few cardboard boxes in search of a cloth bag. Most patrons brought their own bags. Sakusa disliked waste and customers had quickly learned to visit prepared. "You can call the store for an extension."

"Me and 'Samu don't do the phone thing." Atsumu leaned against the counter, elbows resting on the wood surface and head in his hands. His eyes followed the line of Sakusa's arm as Sakusa arranged the books inside a white bag. Sakusa's sleeve slid up with the motion, revealing a sliver of pale skin between the edge of his shirt and the black gloves he always wore. Sakusa's complexion was one of death. It could be argued that Sakusa didn't quite look like death, though. Maybe he was somewhere around severely emaciated. Atsumu thought of sickness and rumors and warnings.

“You’re detectives,” Sakusa said slowly, “And you don’t have any way for people to contact you.”

“We’re guardian spirits,” Atsumu corrected. “Besides, good old fashioned snail mail hasn’t failed me yet.”

“Amateur sleuth might as well be part of your job description.” Sakusa pushed the bag of books across the counter. “Be gentle with that. It’s made from the first cloud of a spring season. You can get a lifetime’s worth of uses if you treat it well.”

“Only you would keep something that decorative in a tiny place like this, Omi,” Atsumu teased, but he lifted the bag by its handles with careful precision that bordered on pious reverence.

Atsumu didn’t extend the door the same courtesy, manhandling it the way one might wrestle with a sibling. As Atsumu exited the building, Sakusa’s acquaintance, or friend as he would loathe to admit, from the flower shop across the street sauntered inside. Yaku Morisuke intentionally chose to be impolite to most people, which really meant the Miya twins, his clumsy and enthusiastic assistant Lev, and his partner Kuroo. In that moment, this manifested as Yaku confidently taking up as much space as someone of his short stature could, forcing Atsumu to awkwardly crab walk sideways for them to both fit through the doorway.

“I thought that one was part of a set,” Yaku joked, shutting the door with more consideration than Atsumu had when he had arrived earlier.

“He said Osamu was on medical leave.” When he phrased it that way, it sounded more professional than Sakusa actually credited the Miya’s twins’ work as being. Sakusa sighed, wishing he could forget that Osamu was sick and that Atsumu had potentially brought that sickness into the store.

Yaku ran his finger over the spine of a leather-bound book on the shelf Sakusa and Atsumu had righted. Its title read _Intersecting Timelines_. Sakusa had read the book exactly twice in his younger days as a means to ease boredom during a particularly uneventful summer. He knew that it described numerous theories about the elusive species commonly known as time travelers.

“Kuroo had to stay home sick yesterday and today too.” Before Sakusa could accuse Yaku of spreading disease, he continued, “Every time he sneezes, he ends up somewhere else. I found him crammed in the cabinet under the sink last night. He was on the roof when I left this morning.”

One domino detail knocked into the next. The pieces weren’t properly aligned and the chain of them wasn’t long enough to form a cohesive image. Nonetheless, having three names rather than just two was a brief breath into the paper windmill of Sakusa’s mind. It seemed slightly less like coincidence or individual carelessness. Hinata, Osamu, and Kuroo. Magical illnesses. Atsumu visiting to do research, which he only did for actual cases and never for personal matters. Sakusa felt slight guilt at not taking the situation, or Atsumu, seriously until Yaku had said something.

The door slammed open, interrupting the unending ferris wheel of Sakusa’s thoughts. Atsumu stood there, bag of books still in hand and panting from having rushed back.

“I almost forgot,” Atsumu said, not quite shouting but not quite speaking at a reasonable volume. “‘Samu wanted me to look at the directory while I was here.”

“I’ll just-” Yaku gestured towards a corner of the store that housed collections of poetry.

Atsumu closed the door with his foot, earning a grimace from Sakusa. He returned to his earlier spot at the counter, setting his bag on the surface next to his elbow. Sakusa slid the town’s directory out from its spot under the counter between a thin notebook full of inventory requests and a novel that Sakusa kept for reading during slow hours.

“Did you need to see anything in particular?” Sakusa inquired, using the same flat tone that he had directed at Atsumu previously.

“I need to look at some stuff for a few people.” Atsumu listed off six names before asking, “Can I just look through it? It’s kind of a lot. I promise I’ll give it right back without a scratch.”

In reply, Sakusa turned the book to face Atsumu and opened it to a random page. Inside, letters written in ink from the deepest parts of the ocean raced across the paper. There was little order or reason to the movements. It was a living obstacle course for itself, each stroke navigating around the others.

“I don’t suppose-”

Sakusa waved him off. “I’m the only one who can read it, and I don’t have any other versions. I’ll write down anything you need to know.”

“You’d do that for me, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu leaned across the counter, careful not to touch the directory, and crowded into Sakusa’s space in a reenactment of their earlier position.

“Only if you don’t make me regret it.” 

Sakusa and Atsumu passed a few hours together, looking up various residents and occasionally bickering. Sakusa was surprised by the amount of people on Atsumu’s list. Despite the tedious nature of the task, Sakusa wrote down the full entry for each person of interest. He reset his line of dominoes and added more with each individual.

Most of the affected were young adults. The illness didn’t seem to discriminate between humans and spirits. They all lived with someone else. Despite having the additional pieces, Sakusa couldn’t determine where they went in relation to each other.

Yaku slipped out without exchanging goodbyes, not wanting to disrupt their concentration. They were still discussing the available information by the time Akaashi arrived. It wasn’t that Sakusa was speaking in a friendlier manner towards Atsumu than he normally did. If anything, he was being sharper with his replies. However, Akaashi had never witnessed his employer exchange such a large volume or words with anyone, let alone Atsumu. Akaashi wondered if quantity was just as valuable, if not more so, than quality in this instance. He also had to admit that a quality interaction with Sakusa was probably not enjoyable by most people’s standards.

Atsumu, from Akaashi’s perspective, seemed cautious of Sakusa but not deterred by his rough exterior or the abundance of negative rumors he had likely heard. By the time Atsumu left, the mystery was no closer to being solved, but Atsumu was grinning and promising to visit Sakusa again if he needed more help while Osamu was unwell. Sakusa insisted that he not do so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wholly unnecessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: “Is this the moment that we kiss?”

Anxiety often paced in circles in the early hours of morning when the cover of darkness was still available to hide the habit. It was a dog chasing its tail or the hands of a clock trying to keep pace with each other or the blades of a helicopter in perfect sync. It cut through both logic and the irrational with persistence and consistency. The feeling of it reminded Sakusa of a time in his childhood when he had trudged through a thick blanket of snow, determined to create a path in the shape of a perfect circle. His cousin Komori had watched as he completed lap after lap, unable to stop until he had worn through the snow to the solid earth beneath. Despite the painful chill, there had been solace in the monotony of the activity. It had been reliable.

That same trustworthy apprehension continued to flow steadily through Sakusa’s nerves in adulthood. It was particularly overwhelming as he considered the events of the previous day. It gathered in his fingertips, compelling him to use his hands. He fed his cat. He cleaned the apartment that he occupied above his bookstore. He watered the plants that Yaku had gifted to him the year prior.

It wasn’t adequate for suppressing his need to control his immediate surroundings, however. The unrest was rainwater sneaking in through the smallest oversights in the construction of the roof and caught in a bucket. It would eventually overflow, creating the same mess the bucket was meant to prevent. He needed another outlet to catch the water. Ideally, the source of the issue would be addressed, but that seemed to be outside his current jurisdiction.

Sakusa went on a walk, labeling both illnesses and Miya Atsumu as topics banned from his thoughts until he could consult with someone sensible. He took his cellphone with him so he could call his cousin. He valued Komori’s input. His cousin had personal experience that gave him a unique understanding of the mind of Sakusa Kiyoomi. Despite not knowing the full situation, Komori could possibly provide insight useful to deciding the necessary steps to take.

Following a series of side roads delivered Sakusa to the only park in the town. It consistently stayed empty until after lunchtime, providing ample space for Sakusa to lay out his worries. It was the location of many private freefalls through fatalistic obsessions as well as conversations with others arguing the likelihood of negative outcomes of various situations.

Komori answered on the first ring. “Do you know what time it is right now?”

“Yes. It’s six fifty-one,” Sakusa supplied. 

“It’s too early for this, Kiyoomi,” Komori scolded.

“You were awake,” Sakusa noted. Only the faint crackles and pops of the call met him in response, which he took as a cue to proceed. “There’s a problem in town. It’s some sort of disease.”

“And?” Komori exhaled, too controlled to be either fully natural or exasperated. The pendulum balanced perfectly between those two options, as if he couldn’t decide for himself whether to be unbothered or annoyed. As if such a choice was possible where Sakusa was involved.

"It’s affecting people’s magic.” 

“That already sounds like it’s above your pay grade. Pray to some local deities or something.” Komori stifled a yawn. “Please just stay out of trouble for once. You’ve only been living there for a year.”

With that, Komori hung up, utterly unhelpful. Sakusa stopped under the decorative cover of a black pine, phone still held to his ear despite the flat silence. His mind meandered to Atsumu, a fixture in his consciousness that was originally unwanted. Atsumu was closer to a knick knack found at a yard sale and gifted to Sakusa than he was to a thoughtfully purchased luxury item.

Atsumu was a guardian deity of sorts, though. Sakusa wanted to call Komori again and tell him that the problem already seemed to be overwhelmingly unmanageable. While it was true that Sakusa only knew the Miya twins to solve problems with the same means most people had available to them, he recognized that having a shrine dedicated to them was no small feat. They likely possessed traits or skills that set them apart from others. It was a warning to take note of if there was something happening that could affect them.

How does a god contract an illness? There was no precedent that Sakusa was aware of. Despite being knowledgeable in many areas from a lifetime of diligent studying, his understanding of the mechanics of being a god was as nonexistent as his desire to break routines. This was not from a lack of interest, though. Sakusa believed that learning was a form of preparation for the tribulations of living, but the experiences of gods remained an undocumented phenomenon of the world.

It was entirely possible that the fox twins were subject to similar physical limitations as most people. That certainly seemed to be the case most times when Sakusa saw them working on a job. Yet, what was the point of being a higher existence if there were no privileges or protections from moral concerns? Sakusa theorized that, at least when it came to sickness, their shrine was an earthly weakness. It wouldn’t hurt to pay a visit to the shrine. The matter wasn’t Sakusa’s responsibility by any means, but it did concern him. Left unchecked, he could easily be the next to fall ill. The least he could do was pray to them. The words of believers or tentative supporters supposedly functioned to bolster the powers of deities. Sakusa considered himself to be neither of those things, but he hoped that concerned acquaintance was sufficient for his purposes.

Sakusa, becoming aware of his absentminded stupor, pocketed his phone and turned to retrace his steps. As he walked in the direction of his apartment, he constructed a mental list of tasks for the day. Clean the bookstore. Call Hinata to confirm whether or not he was resting properly. Call Akaashi to discuss schedule adjustments for the foreseeable future. Visit the flower shop to return an apocalypse action film that Yaku had insisted on lending to him. 

“Omi,” the distinct voice of his feathered employee’s partner followed at Sakusa’s heels.

As Sakusa stopped to wait for Bokuto to catch up to him, he pondered whether he respected or resented Bokuto for going on runs every morning. Whatever the case was, he added determining a new route for walks to the list he had been constructing. Bokuto’s predictability combined with his authentic kindness made him tolerable, but his loud enthusiasm conflicted with Sakusa’s need for quiet. Sakusa often wondered how someone as restrained as Akaashi lived with someone as boisterous as Bokuto.

“Bokuto,” Sakusa greeted when the man was within a distance from Sakusa that did not require raising his voice to be heard. He didn’t bothering engaging in the futile effort of correcting Bokuto’s use of the nickname Atsumu had given him.

“Lucky I bumped into you,” Bokuto declared. Sakusa resisted the urge to tell him that their consistent routines had more of an influence than luck.

“Was there something you needed?” Sakusa resumed walking in the direction he had been headed. Bokuto fell into step beside him, careful to place enough space between them. It was a precise distance learned over a whole year of Sakusa’s meticulous avoidance of anything that could put his wellbeing at risk, which included maintaining personal space to minimize the spread of germs.

“‘Kaashi wanted to tell you he’ll come in early.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sakusa watched Bokuto wipe sweat from his forehead with his shirt.

“He could have just called me.”

“I mean he was going to call you when the store opened, but I thought it was the perfect chance to tell you now.” Bokuto grinned. “Let him help you out for once, Omi.”

“I don’t like to make a habit of overworking my employees.” Sakusa had briefly wondered if Hinata’s schedule had contributed to exhaustion and his subsequent illness. He had just as quickly dismissed the thought, however. He was careful in all things, including his employment practices.

“Omi,” Bokuto whined, “You basically do nothing but work”

“If he really wants to help me, he could pick some things up on his way in today,” Sakusa offered. “You can tell him I’ll call him about it.”

Bokuto agreed to the compromise, throwing his arms up and shouting victoriously. It was excessive for the situation, but Sakusa expected as much from Bokuto at all times. They exchanged a few more words before parting with promises from Sakusa to call Akaashi after opening the bookstore for the day.

If Sakusa were any other person, his bargain might have seemed like a meaningless appeasement. It was difficult to discern whether or not Bokuto cared about the sincerity of Sakusa’s words and actions, but Sakusa guessed that Bokuto knew him well enough to tell that Sakusa didn’t make up a random task for Akaashi. Sakusa had planned to buy shelves reinforced with night after Atsumu’s most recent visit. If Sakusa could expect Atsumu to stop by again without the watchful eye of his twin, he wanted to be prepared for the worst possible property damages Atsumu could inflict.

Sakusa didn’t make it a regular practice to accommodate the needs, or preventable negligence in this case, of others. Unfortunately, Atsumu and his antics were an inescapable exception. In fact, they had almost become simply another part of his routine. Although Sakusa preferred when the twins were together for the subduing effect Osamu had on Atsumu, he had found that Atsumu’s company was surprisingly bearable.

::

The trials of mortal existence were not insurmountable. The Miya twins had successfully returned precious lost items, saved people from various dangerous circumstances, and solved gruesome murders during their time as guardian deities. They had an impressive track record despite the unconventional, or perhaps humanly conventional, approaches they used.

Thus, Atsumu committed to overcoming the ordeal of making dinner. It wasn’t that he was incapable of preparing edible or even enjoyable food. He was simply out of any sort of rigorous practice. Osamu had gladly taken control of all food-related duties when they had first split up household chores, citing a lack of trust in Atsumu to not poison him either purposefully or accidentally.

Atsumu’s free personal chef was indisposed, however, leaving Atsumu to fend for himself. Out of a sense of generosity that Atsumu would argue as being in character, he also found the additional time to provide meals for his brother. The primary motivator might have been that Atsumu would have to solve every problem in town solo for the rest of eternity if he allowed Osamu to starve to death. Well, it wasn’t a guarantee that they could die of such a mundane cause, but it would definitely be a detriment to Osamu’s functioning.

Magical illness was not currently proving to be a better experience than imagined starvation scenarios, though. Osamu expressed as much to Atsumu from where he was sprawled across the futon laid out in the living space, communicating his woes through agonized groans. Atsumu estimated that at least seventy-nine percent of the pained sounds coming out of the afflicted man were intended to earn sympathy. The other twenty-one percent seemed to be vocalizations of his suffering. It was both comically dramatic and mildly worrisome. His symptoms were only a pain radiating through his skull and a cough that rubbed his throat raw, but the combination had become insufferable over the course of a whole day.

“Shut up for, like, five minutes, ‘Samu,” Atsumu ordered over his shoulder, shaping an onigiri in his hands and convincing himself that he wasn’t panicked about the state his brother was in.

“You shut up, ‘Tsumu. Your obnoxious squawking’s making my headache worse,” Osamu retorted. He rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his pillow.

“Ungrateful bastard,” Atsumu muttered. “See if I ever feed you again.”

When Atsumu finished, he had six onigiri with varying fillings that he had made with the random assortment of ingredients in their home. Osamu would have been appalled on a normal day, but Atsumu assumed that he was too miserable to care. He divided the onigiri evenly between two plates, trying to account for the inconsistencies in their sizes.

Atsumu put one plate on the floor by the head of the futon and nudged Osamu with his foot to announce that dinner was ready. Osamu gave no reaction to the prodding. Upon closer inspection, Atsumu realized that his brother had already fallen asleep. He left the food where he had placed it. It was likely that Osamu would wake later in want of dinner. Atsumu knew Osamu would appreciate having the onigiri within easy reach even if he would probably only complain about Atsumu leaving it out. As an afterthought, Atsumu also retrieved a glass of water to place next to the onigiri.

As the later hours of night crawled closer and Atsumu ate his own onigiri, the still air began to feel stale more than it was relaxing. It wasn’t exactly the type of calm that indicated a new wave of misfortune threatening the town. It was a lingering taste from the current curse, souring any attempts at finding or creating happiness.

In a world where most people solved problems that were beyond their own means by going to a shrine and praying to the gods, there were no options for said gods to pass their own issues onto someone else. The average person likely thought that to be an inconsequential complication. Gods should have means enough to handle anything. However, as those who spent the most time in the Miya twins’ company had come to understand, deities were more mortal than folktales implied.

Without Osamu to seal the gaps in Atsumu’s hypotheses about and plans for addressing the puzzling disease troubling the town, Atsumu was stuck. It was equally unproductive to wallow in self-pity, though. Atsumu deposited his empty plate in the sink with a silent promise to clean it later and then left the house to visit the one place where he could clear his mind.

::

Despite the presence of gods, divine power eluded most things. There was little to show for the nature of temples and shrines, charms and talismans, and even the gods themselves. None of these things were inherently holy. Their greatness only manifested in the unwavering spotlight of belief. It was a result of devoted efforts. A monolith built from the monotonous worship from those unable yet to grasp the universe in ways that they needed. Remarkable things simply weren’t innately so. A sturdy foundation was the prerequisite for even those above worldly existence.

In that sense, all things had the potential to be blessed. It wasn’t in the traditional sense. There would be no praise or ardent followers. There would be no preservation in sacred stories. Yet, there was strength in the tangible labors of mortals. Making a gift with your own two hands gave it sentimentality. Cooking food and consuming it after a rigorous day made it satisfying. Nurturing life, be it plants or animals or offspring, gave you a purpose and a perceivable impact. There was meaning to be made in every action.

The godly and earthly bled together during the still hours, when it was so late that it was actually early and new light began to illuminate all things. The blend of the two, a distinct shade rather than splotches of each color, took the form of a faithless but attentive man. Sakusa Kiyoomi obeyed the necessary steps, breathing life into an empty vessel.

He bowed to the red archways that would be his guides to the mountain shrine. Approached on the edge of the path, taking delicate steps so as not to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. Cleansed his hands and mouth of impurities before daring to steal the attention of gods. Rang the bell at the main hall and presented offerings. Bowed out of humility and clapped to request attention. Gave thanks and demanded blessings. Bowed again. Sakusa observed the expected etiquette and, in doing so, made the fox gods' shrine holy.

The usual process done, Sakusa began examining the shrine. He wasn't sure what he should look for beyond the vague image of something not right. It was for the first time that Sakusa regretted his lack of religiosity. In another life, he would have paid his respects regularly. He would have known every scuff that should or shouldn’t be there, mentally documented from observation during years’ worth of shrine visits. He would have been able to immediately identify anything out of place.

Despite Sakusa’s disappointment at not possessing information useful to the current situation, gazing up at the stone foxes protecting the shrine failed to ignite any intense desire to change his ways. It was quite the opposite, actually. Those impassive stares made his skin tingle. He reminded himself that there was no reason to fear statues. Besides, these were guardian deities, not wrathful spirits.

As Sakusa turned away from watchful fox eyes, an object on the ground caught his attention. It glittered under the fresh morning light, small enough to be mistaken for a pebble. Sakusa knelt to pick it up. He lifted it close to his face, pinched between his gloved thumb and index finger.

Thorough inspection revealed that it was a dainty ring made from silver and designed to match the serpentine form of a dragon. Despite the size of it, the detailing was intricate. It was clearly crafted with a trained hand. Sakusa guessed that its monetary value was not insignificant.There was also the possibility that it was more than a pretty piece of jewelry. Sakusa pocketed the item for later study, wondering if this was the clue Atsumu needed. Carelessly dropped, potentially magical items seemed too good to be true.

::

It was rare for people to be able to say that they had a place in the world created solely for them. Instead, they chose spaces that they wished to infuse with their essence, extending roots into ground suitable to their needs. Every person sought something unique to them. Every location was befitting of someone. When the perfect match came together, the burdens of life became just a bit lighter. There was relief in having a safe haven in which to breathe easily.

Atsumu was one of the privileged few to have a place of solace gifted to them. He never had to put effort forth to find peace at his shrine. The edges of him and his sacred land aligned neatly. The air that mortals trudged through on a daily basis peeled away in thick layers as Atsumu strolled under the center of the ceremonial gates. Each step closer to the main hall cleared away the fog of mortal concerns and eased the weight of godly responsibility.

There was no rehearsed grace in the fox god’s movements or regal splendor in his appearance. He carried himself as mortals do in their homes. Osamu’s suggestion of possible interference with their shrine was only a muted warning. Atsumu couldn’t conjure up any scenarios in which he would find danger at the end of the path.

As the main hall came into view, however, Atsumu was able to distinguish the sturdy form of Sakusa Kiyoomi in the gentle hues of the morning’s sunrise. Sakusa’s back was towards Atsumu as he ran a steady hand over the stone platform bearing one the foxes that watched over the shrine. Atsumu slowed his pace and softened his steps. Sakusa was an unpredictable variable in all affairs. Atsumu recalled the many whispers of suspicion that drifted between residents of the town as well as Osamu’s recommendation to avoid any conflict with the reserved bookstore owner.

As he entered the circle of a controlled shout’s distance from Sakusa, near enough to distinguish the bounce of Sakusa’s curls, Atsumu’s foot connected with a piece of concrete that must have chipped from the walkway leading directly up to the shrine. It skittered across the ground, chattering nonsense with each strike against the path. Atsumu winced, fists clenching and lungs instinctively drawing in a breath with a hiss whistling between his teeth. His jaw tightened in anticipation of Sakusa’s reaction.

The folds of Sakusa’s black turtleneck stretched and twisted as the muscles beneath shifted. The line of his shoulders tensed. His head jerked as if he had been slapped, but he didn’t turn to face Atsumu. Instead, he continued to look at the fox statue in front of him, seemingly engrossed in examining it. Atsumu paused at an arm’s length away from Sakusa, observing the man quietly and unsure of whether to allow him to continue undisturbed or interrupt his aimless investigation.

Before Atsumu could come to a decision that wouldn’t disappoint or embarrass Osamu if he heard about it, Sakusa broke open the pressurized uncertainty crystalizing between them.

“I knew you were a bit self-absorbed, but I didn’t expect you to be vain enough to pray to yourself.”

The shock of Sakusa’s voice cutting through the stillness and the childishly taunting style of his words were reminiscent of a different scene. Atsumu pictured an ordinary day. He and Osamu would go to the bookstore, where Sakusa perched behind the counter and brooded over the unwanted presence of the twins. Hinata or Akaashi would offer to assist the twins. Hinata would do so at a volume that grated on the ears in the confined space while Akaashi would speak at a volume more appropriate for use indoors. Sakusa would share a few biting remarks periodically.

“Well?” Sakusa took a step back from the statue and, unintentionally, towards Atsumu. The motion pulled Atsumu out of his memories and into the reality of the situation.

“Who else am I supposed to pray to, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu countered. “Ever heard of a god praying to another god?”

“I didn’t think gods prayed at all. I figured you have all of this-” Sakusa gestured to their general surroundings. “-because you can just fix whatever needs praying about.”

“What about you, then?” Atsumu asked, stuck between being angry and mocking. He took a half-step forward, getting close enough to whisper. “You don’t strike me as the dutiful worshipper type.”

Unexpectedly, Sakusa turned to face Atsumu. His hand brushed against Atsumu’s arm, warmth briefly transferring between them through the layers of their clothes with the quick touch. Sakusa could see the chapped skin of Atsumu’s mouth tighten in a thin line and each individual eyelash as Atsumu blinked in surprise. Atsumu’s tongue swiped across his lower lip. Sakusa’s eyes followed the ethereal curve of Atsumu’s throat as he swallowed.

The shift in mood gave Atsumu whiplash. He was aware of the fact that he should be cautious of Sakusa. Anyone who would poke around at a guardian deity’s shrine alone should raise suspicions. However, there was nothing yet obviously changed about their easy banter. It was the same dynamic, only in a different setting. Plus, the sudden proximity was an almost romcom-y sort of circumstance rather than threatening.

_ Is this the moment that we kiss? _ Atsumu asked himself. It seemed sacrilegious to even entertain the thought on the grounds of his own shrine. He was tempted to submit to the flippant urge, though. He could easily press his lips against the two moles on Sakusa’s forehead. Against the slope of Sakusa’s cheek. Against Sakusa’s own mouth. If Atsumu was supposed to be a holy creature to mortals, then Sakusa’s beauty was enough to be holy to those who were most divine.

With his brother’s health at risk, it was ridiculous to believe that the signs were directing Atsumu to have a love-at-first-sight epiphany. It wasn’t even first sight. That script had expired a year ago. Atsumu considered the probability that Sakusa’s hidden power everyone gossiped about was the ability to fatally charm people. It would definitely make up for Sakusa’s usually disagreeable personality.

_ What kind of spell do you have me under? _ The question got stage fright on Atsumu’s tongue and slithered back down his throat as Sakusa stepped around him.

“You should stay away from here until you’re done with this case,” Sakusa advised, leaving out any actual justifications for his words. On that note, Sakusa departed. Atsumu turned to watch as Sakusa intentionally walked along the outside of the gates, figure hastily retreating from view.

Alone, Atsumu’s conscience, sounding oddly like Osamu, immediately reprimanded him. It was beyond unacceptable for Atsumu to develop a crush on anyone while an illness of unknown severity was terrorizing his town, especially not someone who might have been defacing a shrine. Even if that person had a pretty face.

Atsumu looked over to the nearest stone fox and swore himself to secrecy. Osamu would die of exasperation or something worse if he heard that Atsumu had become infatuated, albeit mildly so, with Sakusa during their first entirely private encounter. He would likely never let Atsumu go anywhere unsupervised again. Before he would have to return home to his brother, Atsumu gave himself permission to wonder again how he had been blessed with the luck to find heaven at such ungodly hours.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cavities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: “Let’s just stay like this for a little longer…”

Joy was capable of growing in both fertilized soil and the most uninhabitable locations, a carefully tended lawn or a flower in the sidewalk cracks. Seeds tossed to the impatient beaks of small birds. Biting into a loaf of bread taken directly from the oven. A soft towel after returning home from being caught in a storm. A summer festival to honor the end of a war long forgotten.

Festivals were a guaranteed source of happiness for the town’s residents. Crimson lanterns staining the blues and pinks and oranges of dusk. Various smells of fresh food from a myriad of stalls mingling into a single warm blanket embrace. Children’s laughter rising from around the games available to play. Plastic masks transforming people into anything other than themselves.

Despite, or perhaps because of, the shadow of disease cast over the town, the residents committed wholeheartedly to participating in the annual merriment. The thought of refusing to hold a festival was unfathomable. This occasion in particular was especially magical.

Despite the festival’s original meaning having been lost to time, it was understood that it took place on a night when the barrier between human and spirit became flexible. Permeable to the living almost. For one night, humans could reach through and grasp the supernatural essence residing on the other side without it slipping through their fingers. Spirits gained similar benefits, their magic bordering on godly in strength.

It was something intimate to be able to touch the center of reality and experience the world of other creatures. Somewhere in the flow of history, that closeness was credited as a blessing of the local gods. Thus, the celebration became known as the Fox Festival.

In a vain and carefree sort of way, the Miya twins attended the festival named for them every year without fail. They accepted the fond praise and adoration, closer to that from proud parents than from reverent followers, lavished on them by the town’s residents. They inhaled sweets until their cheeks ballooned outwards and their stomachs squeezed in protest. They chased each other through the streets wearing fox masks and tripping over their yukata.

It was a tradition that also debatably doubled as fulfilling their godly duties to watch over the town, which is why Atsumu claimed that there was no reason big enough to stop them from going.

“Give him a break, Atsumu,” Suna Rintarou chided from where he was standing by their stovetop heating water.

“Yeah, give me a break, bastard,” Osamu echoed from his spot sitting on his futon. He hadn’t done much more lately than get up and walk short distances before becoming nauseous.

“It’s so boring to stay home while everyone’s out having fun,” Atsumu insisted.

Osamu sneezed, ears flattening back against his head with the force of it. Suna froze in the middle of reaching for a bowl from the cabinet mounted on the wall to his right. The steam whistling from the kettle on the stove hung in the air. Even the creak of their floor under Atsumu and Suna’s feet fell quiet. The room could have been a painting with its eerily still beauty.

“‘Samu,” Atsumu whined, turning off the stove and poking at Suna’s raised arm.

“It’s not my fault.” Osamu held up his hands defensively. “I can’t control any of my magic.”

Atsumu reached around Suna to fetch the nearest ceramic bowl. “Are you sure you can’t come?”

Osamu narrowed his eyes at Atsumu and gestured at himself. “I’m kind of dealing with something right now, ‘Tsumu. Shouldn’t you be focusing on fixing said something?”

“Everyone is going to be at the festival. It’s the perfect place to get some work done,” Atsumu reasoned. He scooped matcha powder from a jar on the counter and into the bowl. He didn’t want to neglect the current case of rampant illness affecting the town. It also wasn’t a lie that he thought a gathering of every human and spirit in town on the most magical night of the year was an opportune place to investigate. He could admit to himself, however, that he also craved the normalcy of attending a festival with his brother.

“If you’re really going-” Osamu fell back against his futon, eyes on the ceiling. “-find someone else to go with you.”

As Atsumu whisked the matcha with hot water, Suna brushed off the temporary time freeze cast on the room. Suna’s body faded between liquid translucency and the opacity of living creatures. His figure twisted and spilled like water jostled in a container, struggling to regain control of his own magic while shaking the remains of Osamu’s influence from his skin.

“You go with me, Suna,” Atsumu suggested.

Suna ignored Atsumu, rolling the stiffness of resolidifying from his shoulders and glancing at Osamu. “That never stops being weird.”

“Ah, sorry, Rin,” Osamu said in a neutral tone that implied he didn’t have the energy to feel apologetic. Both he and Suna understood that Osamu had little control over his powers at the moment. The twins’ time control was harmless anyway

“Suna.” Atsumu pulled the syllables of Suna’s name taut across his tongue. “Go to the festival with me.”

“I think I’d rather stay in and take care of this asshole.” Suna jerked his chin in Osamu’s direction.

Atsumu made a gesture imitative of gagging. “You’re so domestic, Suna. I’ll just go with Omi if you’re going to be like that.”

“Please don’t go with Sakusa,” Osamu groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “I told you not to get on his bad side.”

“I didn’t,” Atsumu retorted. “In fact, we’ve never been closer.”

Atsumu chose to exclude any mention of the accidental mess in Sakusa’s store and his encounter with Sakusa at the shrine. Omitting details that supported any conclusions involving Sakusa being a malicious spirit or at least an enemy of the twins surely wasn’t negligent. In fact, it seemed beneficial for Osamu’s peace of mind. Really, Atsumu had never been a more thoughtful brother.

“Just-” Osamu exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “I didn't mean be friends with him either. Don’t talk to Sakusa more than you need to. I really can’t tell what’s up with him.”

“One of his employees is sick, too. Seems like the same thing Osamu caught,” Suna added.

“Get Bokuto and Akaashi to go with you,” Osamu instructed. “Then you’ll have at least one person with some sense there.”

Atsumu hummed in acknowledgement, but his thoughts conjured up images of Sakusa’s smooth skin, pale in the morning light like fresh snow. The two moles like an unfinished constellation on his face. The blots of his eyes like spilled ink. The line of his lips curving in new ways with every minute expression. Close enough to touch, to kiss.

::

Time took careful steps through the door, wary of tracking in mud. It hadn’t done well in the past several days, earning numerous reproachful glares for the misfortune it invited in. It wasn’t one to learn from its mistakes either, expecting a different outcome with little labor done to alter the behaviors that had caused previous predicaments.

Thus, in a week that saw a town cursed and one of its guardian deities incapacitated, a bookstore tormented by a exceedingly clumsy customer, and a disconcerting encounter on sacred land, the concept of anything being shocking had lost most meaning. This was especially true from the perspective of Sakusa Kiyoomi, who actively sought to avoid being shocked, if such a thing was possible. If an event happened once, there was nothing stopping it from occurring again, so one might as well prepare. Besides, anything was possible when the Miya twins were involved.

As Sakusa gave his store a cursory appraisal, determining any necessary changes to accommodate the new shelves Akaashi had retrieved on his behalf, the door slammed open. The hinges didn’t squeal, just as they hadn’t before, but such a noisy entry even without neglected hinges was characteristic of only one regular visitor. Sakusa, back facing the door, closed his eyes and counted to five. It was not unpredictable for Atsumu to come to the store. He had an adequate list of reasons to do so. He could be there to return the books he had borrowed or to confront Sakusa about their meeting at the fox gods’ shrine.

“Go to the Fox Festival with me,” Atsumu demanded, breathless.

Or to invite Sakusa to a festival.

Sakusa didn’t turn around yet, but he could picture Atsumu. Face red as clay soil from running since he didn’t seem capable of traveling at normal paces. Shoulders rising and falling with his exaggerated efforts to pull in air, giving the impression of man who'd been drowning.

“What are you talking about?” Sakusa walked away, heading towards the counter he typically sat behind. With Atsumu, someone both entirely unpleasant and surprisingly likable, in the vicinity, Sakusa desired the physical barrier. He could use it as a shield, deflecting the chaos that hung off Atsumu like loose threads, persistent and unattractive. Today, it was all unraveling, caught on something protruding. A branch or a drawer handle or corner. Atsumu ushered in exactly what Sakusa tried to eliminate from his life. Unpredictability. 

Atsumu’s footsteps followed, muted reflections of Sakusa’s own. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Safely behind the counter, Sakusa pivoted to stare at Atsumu. He took in the sight, confirming that Atsumu looked exactly as he had imagined, before sitting on the stool he usually occupied.

Atsumu leaned against the counter across from Sakusa, comfortable as he would be in his own home. He sprawled across the wood surface, arms stretched forward and long enough for his hands to dangle over the other edge. He squished one cheek against the counter and contemplated Sakusa out of the corners of his eyes. Sakusa vividly remembered cleaning the counter less than an hour earlier.

“I always go to the festival with ‘Samu and Suna,” Atsumu explained, voice muffled by his poor posture and arm in front of his mouth. “They’re both staying home this year, so you should go with me.”

"Why," Sakusa intoned, "Would I do that?"

"Because festivals are more fun with other people." Atsumu straightened, slamming his hands on the counter with enough force for Sakusa to worry about property damage. "Wait. Are you going with someone else? Don't tell me you have friends, Omi-Omi."

Sakusa chose to overlook Atsumu's last statement. "Do you have time to be playing around? I thought you were working."

"I am," Atsumu muttered. "Almost everyone's going to be there with their magic to max. Might as well snoop around a bit."

Sakusa ducked down to find the notebook of inventory requests. He had recognized some of the new titles he obtained from a trade that morning and wanted to check if he knew them from the list. It was also a helpful distraction from considering Atsumu and festivals together in the same thought. 

"I've never been to a festival before," Sakusa admitted to the underside of the counter.

"What?" Atsumu's mouth fell open as if the clasp that normally held it shut fifteen percent of the time had been smashed with a large rock. "Seriously?"

"I moved here right after the one last year," Sakusa confirmed.

"What about the last place you lived?" Atsumu eyed Sakusa as he resurfaced. Sakusa shrugged, the motion jerky like a puppet being directed when nervous hands. 

For the second time that week, Akaashi arrived to work to discuss his boss in conversation with Miya Atsumu. He had never witnessed Sakusa willingly exchange words with either of the Miya twins beyond superficial pleasantries and the occasional barbed remark. Akaashi hurried past the current exchange to store his bag in the back room.

"That means you’ve got quadruple the reasons to go," Atsumu declared. 

"Fine," Sakusa cut in before Atsumu could improvise a mediocre speech about the merits of festivals.

"Fine?" Atsumu's eyes widened.

"We can go," Sakusa conceded. He added, "I guess I can help you a bit while Osamu is ill. The sooner you finish this job, the sooner you'll return my books."

Atsumu spun on his heels in a single quick rotation before jumping a few inches off the ground, pumping his fists once. Akaashi exited the back room just in time to be a spectator of Atsumu’s small victory celebration, like an unwitting pedestrian stumbling into a street performance. He looked between Atsumu and Sakusa, eyes questioning.

"Don't mind him," Sakusa instructed Akaashi. To Atsumu, he said, "Now get out of my store, Miya."

“Whatever you say, boss,” Atsumu replied, walking backwards until his foot bumped the door. He reached behind himself and pulled it open, stupid grin on his face, and slammed it closed as he left.

As Atsumu ran home, he felt the rush of doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. It was nostalgic of all the times in his childhood when he had been caught stealing from a farmer’s diligently grown harvest, shapeshifting into a noteworthy politician, pretending to haunt a local movie theater, and so on. Osamu always gave him an earful after. Atsumu put going on a date with mystery man and maybe villain Sakusa Kiyoomi at the top of the list of things he wasn’t supposed to do. Another secret to keep from his brother.

Not that it was actually a date. Atsumu hadn’t labeled it as such. He wasn’t even sure that he was interested in Sakusa in that way. There had only been a few moments of weakness in which he thought about kissing Sakusa’s startlingly pretty face. Other than those times, Atsumu reminded himself that Sakusa was a potential threat. Keeping him close was a wise decision. He wasn’t distracted thinking about the festivities at all.

::

Chestnut red against riverstones. A bloodstain spreading across moving water. Those were, to Atsumu, the colors of summer. He had worn the same clothing to the Fox Festival since early adulthood. Grey robe and maroon sash. His hands were practiced in the art of following customs, of becoming a tradition, easily wrapping himself in his yukata and tying his obi. This was the most magical act he was capable of. Teleporting himself to a year before and five years before and twenty years before when his appearance was briefly exactly the same. For one night, he matched the part of a guardian deity.

Osamu had complained when he caught Atsumu leaving the house, insisting that wearing a yukata when he should be working might interfere if he needed to move quickly. Atsumu had argued that it would look strange to anyone who knew him to see him in plain clothes at the festival. Osamu had deemed that defense to be weak but hadn’t pushed the matter, judging it as not worth his energy. He had instead gone to sleep. Suna gave no comment, sitting at the nearby table with a book in his hand to pass the time and the purpose of silently guarding Osamu.

Atsumu felt validated in his fashion choices until he met Sakusa outside the bookstore. Sakusa was the opposite of Atsumu’s heritage and history and loose formality. He was all modern and stifling and entirely too bland. It wasn’t even that he had changed his attire at all from his typical clothes. That was precisely the issue. Sakusa regularly wore a completely black ensemble of a turtleneck, slacks, lace-up boots, and leather gloves. He looked ready to attend a funeral rather than a festival.

“Who died, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu exclaimed, one hand over his heart in mock horror.

“Your sense of humor,” Sakusa deadpanned, locking the door to the bookstore and starting on his usual path to the park. “You’re going like that?”

“Me?” Atsumu fell into step beside Sakusa, unused to the route Sakusa was leading him on. “You’re the one who’s out of place.”

Sakusa’s eyes slide sideways, pinning Atsumu with the intensity of his gaze. One of Atsumu’s ears twitched. He could feel the phantom pricks of pins through his appendages, trapped for display. It was unsettling how difficult Sakusa was to decipher. He was like the town directory, messages unknowable to prying eyes. Every time Atsumu thought he could identify a stray clue, Sakusa shuffled the letters into new nonsense words.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a festival,” Sakusa reminded Atsumu, breaking the quiet tension.

“Then we’ll just have to make up for all the fun you’ve been missing out on,” Atsumu declared.

Those words were witchcraft, Atsumu's own way of tampering with any rational thought he might have been capable of. Claims of focusing on work and mysteries and magical illnesses folded in on themselves until their insides were on the outside, revealing a desire for pleasurable leisure and uninterrupted antics.

These desires were amplified by the buzz rising from the crowd of festival goers, full of cheer despite the misfortune of recent days. As predicted, nearly everyone from the town who was in good health was at the festival. Some were dressed in everyday clothes, but most wore yukata. People skillfully dodged each other while balancing food in their hands, masks on their faces, and lighthearted conversations with friends. Children wove between people’s legs, waving cups and skewers of sickeningly sweet candy while searching for games to play.

Atsumu’s mouth watered at the sight of the numerous food options, brain working at maximum power to decide which he should eat first. He eventually urged Sakusa in the direction of a takoyaki stand, a selection made based on his memories of Osamu’s favorite order of festival activities.

Sakusa hovered to the side while Atsumu ordered six takoyaki. He found himself with one foot in the realm of festivals and the other in the early morning hours at the shrine of twin guardian deities. He was an imposter in a scene everyone else had already acted out countless times before. It was unlikely that Sakusa would be able to notice any deviations from the script.

He almost didn’t care. Contrary to the impressions he made on most others, Sakusa wasn’t immune to the infectious nature of fun and excitement. He was actually quite easily swayed, bending under the weight of others’ whims. It became harder when he was surrounded by a whole town’s worth of celebratory energy.

Sakusa was not a robot, and that’s precisely what scared him. He took solace in the controllable. Emotions were manageable only some of the time. On all other occasions, Sakusa would frantically lash out and hope they would flee the vicinity of his heavily defended core.

The heavy thump of taiko drums drowned out Sakusa’s own thoughts, though, replacing his heartbeat with a foreign pulse. He walked in time with the novel rhythm, drifting in Atsumu’s wake to locations he never would have explored on his own. He accepted more food as they meandered through the length of the festival, sharing yakisoba, frozen bananas, and cotton candy with Atsumu. Sakusa thought he might finally understand why mortals sometimes offered up food to the gods.

::

The grass was dry in the summer heat, but Sakusa had still refused to sit in it. Atsumu had clarified that it was part of the full experience to lounge in the grass to watch the fireworks, promising that it was enjoyable when there was no dew sticking to the ground. Sakusa had remained dubious, pressuring Atsumu to yield to his demands to find more reasonable seating. They had agreed on a wooden bench situated away from the groups of people lying in the grass.

They sat next to each other, closer than necessary but not enough so that they were touching. Each was holding fresh taiyaki in the hand farther from the other. Sakusa’s free hand rested on the bench between them. His eyes were fixed on the sky, where fireworks splattered onto the dark canvas in vibrant hues.

Atsumu’s own gaze was aimed at Sakusa. The lights above them tinted Sakusa’s normally pale complexion with warm reds and oranges and pinks. Atsumu was almost fooled into believing that Sakusa was capable of looking like a lively person. Atsumu placed his free hand on the bench next to Sakusa’s, pinkies touching. Sakusa didn’t pull away. He didn’t give any sort of visible reaction.

Above them, the fireworks hung suspended in the night, fiery blooms unable to wilt. Adults stopped in the middle of taking bites from their food. Children froze while chasing each other. The sounds of the festival faded away. Without the drums, Atsumu could only hear his own heartbeat setting an alarmed tempo.

“What-” Sakusa stilled when he felt his hand being covered with Atsumu’s own.

Atsumu’s thigh pressed against Sakusa’s as he leaned in. His breath fanned across Sakusa’s cheek, impossibly cold. Soothing. Sakusa didn’t risk looking, scared to see how close Atsumu was.

“Let’s just stay like this for a little longer, yeah?” Atsumu murmured into Sakusa’s curls.

More than the thrum of the festival, the cadence of Atsumu’s voice felt like summer. It was warm and untethered. Independent yet longing. Sakusa closed his eyes, feeling Atsumu inhale slowly. Whatever had taken root between them was growing out of the range of manageable, faster than Sakusa could prune away the unfamiliar parts. He almost didn’t want to stop it from speeding out of his reach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> criminally handsome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: secretly dating

Being underprepared and expending energy on useless activities were two sides of the same coin. They were different in practice but of the same nature. Those who would not take proper precautions and thus suffered the consequences were foolish. Those who wasted effort on unnecessary activities instead of directing attention to important matters were equally foolish.

 _My priorities are all wrong_ , Sakusa thought to himself as he watched Atsumu, who was sitting on the counter, kick his feet back and forth. His heels thumped against the wood base of the counter.

Time spent on and with Atsumu wasn't simple or easy. Atsumu was an invasive species in Sakusa's life. Artificially transplanted and overtaking all of Sakusa's natural faculties. For the first time, though, Sakusa didn't urgently seek the quiet isolation that he had possessed before Atsumu arrived. He didn't exactly welcome the disturbances Atsumu caused, but he was almost enjoying their interactions.

Instead of allowing those damning thoughts to take shape between them, Sakusa said, "Don't you have other things to be doing, Miya?"

“Nothing better than this,” Atsumu replied.

Sakusa wrung the air out of his lungs until his chest tightened and his head cleared. He inhaled new discipline, instructing his emotions to line up in an orderly fashion and wait their turns.

“Did you find anything in the books you borrowed?” Sakusa asked. Having read them himself and now having more details about the current situation, Sakusa already knew that there was no relevant information in the books.

“Nothing,” Atsumu confirmed. “I don’t have any leads except for firsthand experience from everyone who’s been sick. Coughing. Nausea. Fatigue. Sneezing. Uncontrollable magic. Loss of magic. What am I supposed to do with all of that?”

Sakusa traced the outline Atsumu had just provided, trying to construct something more cohesive. Their styles didn’t complement one another, though, and Sakusa found that his image didn’t make sense. He was still missing some perspective.

“Loss of magic,” Sakusa repeated, stumped by the mismatched edges of the pieces in front of him. He thought of Hinata and Kuroo, regretting the missed opportunity to obtain information. It was a major failure as an employer to not have inquired further about Hinata’s condition. As a friend, too, despite his reticence to admit being such, he had been neglectful of Yaku’s wellbeing by not checking in on Kuroo more thoroughly.

“Yeah,” Atsumu said, oblivious to the mental gymnastics Sakusa’s anxiety was rehearsing. “A few people lost all of their magic after the part where they couldn’t control it.”

That was a variable for which Sakusa was unable to even consider how to accommodate. Magic loss, even of the temporary variety, was unprecedented. Sakusa connected that detail with the fact that a god had contracted a magical illness for the first time in recorded history. He labeled the pair as something to avoid for as long as possible. With no data around which to formulate a strategy, no way to prepare, the probability of disaster was higher than he cared to work with.

“I have an idea, though,” Atsumu declared, reassuring in the most unintentional and unsubstantiated of ways. “We’re going to break into the museum.”

“Break into the museum?” Sakusa asked incredulously, trying to open the back panel of the statement to peer at its inner mechanisms. None of the components should have aligned. The whole device should have collapsed.

The idea of Atsumu in a museum was absurd. An entity that transcended the passage of time didn’t belong in a safehouse for history. Beyond the abstract relationship between gods and museums, the act of visiting a museum was too civilized for an undomesticated delinquent such as Atsumu. The breaking and entering aspect of Atsumu’s idea fulfilled his penchant for mischief, but it was above his typical level of misconduct. Sakusa was preoccupied enough by the thought of breaking into the museum to not dispute Atsumu’s inclusion of him in the plan.

“Man,” Atsumu sighed, “You’re even less of a conversationalist than you usually are.”

Sakusa ignored Atsumu’s complaint. “Explain to me precisely why you want to break into the museum. If you’re convincing, I might help you do it in a way that won’t get you caught.”

::

The museum was like any historical and artistic institute. It housed numerous exhibits containing a range of mediums from different time periods. Standing before any of the displays evoked thoughtful reflection. Even the most amateur observer could understand that only the finest work was included. It was one of the town’s few noteworthy tourist destinations. Not that many people chose the secluded mountain towns as their ideal travel destination. Nonetheless, the locals still took advantage of the establishment. No amount of visits seemed to dull the enchanting nature of the art.

In addition to traditional exhibits, the museum also contained a stockpile of magical kindling. Various artifacts of magical significance appeared in the displays periodically. It remained unclear who was donating the items or whether there was anyone involved at all. Magic items were just as unpredictable as spirits, if not more so. They lacked the sentience, or at least the ability to communicate, required to understand how and why they did things. Storing all of them in one location may have been asking for trouble, but it certainly made it easier to keep track of everything.

It was an uncharacteristically logical conclusion on Atsumu’s part that they might be able to find clues in the museum. A misplaced or deliberately hidden item. An object already in possession by the museum that was reacting negatively to unfamiliar magic. A missing artifact and signs of theft. The second part of his reasoning, regarding breaking in, involved not raising suspicion. If a malicious individual was actively using the museum as a base of operations, they might be guarding it during the day. Although this could extend past closing, Atsumu had argued that they would draw less attention to themselves at night when less people were nearby.

Sakusa found himself unable to entirely discredit Atsumu’s speculation. He also hadn’t wanted to leave Atsumu to his own devices. Atsumu didn’t exactly exude the delicacy of someone capable of stealthily entering a locked building. It wouldn’t harm Sakusa for Atsumu to be caught sneaking inside beyond the guilt of having known Atsumu’s plans. It likely wouldn’t lead to particularly severe consequences for Atsumu either. Deities were afforded an abundance of freedom in their actions.

Even so, Sakusa accompanied Atsumu on his criminal excursion. Being discovered by a townsperson was one matter. Encountering a hostile individual determined to infect a whole town with a magical illness was another, more dangerous matter. Sakusa imagined a scenario in which Atsumu was disposed of by the culprit, leaving Sakusa alone and surrounded by sick people. Just thinking about it made Sakusa’s skin itch.

Unlocking the door proved to be an easy task. It was an ancient building that had never seen any updates beyond minor repairs. This included outdated security. Sakusa observed Atsumu’s unbothered expression as he gave the door a few aggressive pulls. That was enough to open it, although Sakusa wasn’t sure the lock survived the strain.

The entrance opened into a spacious lobby. Moonlight threw their shadows across the wood flooring and grey walls, giving the impression of another pair of visitors in the room. Both the left and right wall contained a doorway leading to some of the museum exhibits. 

“I’ll be honest,” Atsumu said into the room. “I’m not really sure what we should be looking for.”

Sakusa didn’t reply, unwilling to admit that he was just as clueless as Atsumu. Instead, he walked towards the door on the right side of the room. After a moment’s pause, Atsumu followed.

The next room was full of oil paintings. The subjects ranged from people to animals to landscapes. Even someone as unacquainted with the arts as Atsumu was able to tell that they were surrounded by valuable works. The playful words he wanted to exchange with Sakusa hesitated before silently and respectfully sliding out of his mouth. He wasn’t knowledgeable on the techniques and nuances of creating. He was a being that protected what already existed. Nonetheless, he tried to give each painting an appropriate amount of time, studying each brush stroke and mingling with the magic in the room.

Sakusa, on the other hand, had always known art to be enjoyable. There was a degree of objectivity with which it could be appreciated. He generally prefered to admire it without company. However, he could admit that he wasn’t deterred by Atsumu’s presence.

Atsumu almost seemed at home with the art. When Atsumu was quiet, Sakusa could admit that he possessed godly beauty. A holy painting gracing the museum’s inventory. The product of an entire lifetime dedicated to capturing the likeness of perfection. He was especially drawn to Atsumu’s eyes, glowing honey even in the darkness. There was something trapped in his gaze, an amber fossil. With all of his education and preparation, Sakusa couldn’t read Atsumu.

“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu murmured.

Sakusa flinched at the sound of Atsumu’s voice breaking the silence and chipping away at his distracted daze. He came back into himself, suddenly aware of even the most minute of sensations. The floor creaked as he shifted his weight. His hands were clammy under the leather of his gloves. His lips were dry. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at Atsumu instead of scrutinizing the displays. Atsumu was staring back.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Atsumu asked. He sifted through the collection of them that he had been assembling over the past several days. He had survived a full afternoon in the bookstore with the most irritable local recluse helping him review the town’s directory. He had encountered the peculiar man at his own shrine in the earliest hours of the day before the town stirred. He had invited the bookseller to the Fox Festival, sharing food with him and watching the fireworks. He was breaking into a museum with the guy. More and more, Atsumu wanted to kiss him.

“If you must,” Sakusa said.

“I think I like you, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu whispered. “I don’t know what’s to like about you, but I do. You’re a mean bastard-”

“Is this a confession or a joke, Miya?” Sakusa interrupted. His cheeks burned.

“I’m trying to share my feelings with you, Omi,” Atsumu protested. “I’m taking this seriously. Are you?”

“Try saying it without being an ass in the next breath, then,” Sakusa recommended, voice flat and heart threatening to crawl up his throat.

Atsumu sucked air in through his teeth and exhaled it out just as quickly. It was short. Less like a sigh than a reassurance to himself.

“I like you, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu declared. “I don’t know you super well, but I want to. I want to spend more time with you. Not for work.”

“That’s generally ill-advised,” Sakusa said. “Getting close to me, I mean.”

Atsumu groaned. “You don’t have to make it complicated, Omi. Just go out with me. If I still like you after a few dates, then isn’t that good? If you like me too, even better.”

“Maybe you’re thinking about it too simply,” Sakusa retorted. Without the counter in his bookstore, Sakusa could only rely on his own words to protect himself.

“I’ve been honest with you,” Atsumu pointed out. “How about you be honest with me.”

Atsumu stepped closer, reaching for Sakusa. Sakusa didn’t stop him. He couldn’t. He felt like he was watching a movie. Atsumu was confessing his feelings to someone else. Invading someone else’s personal space. Taking someone else’s hand and radiating body heat through someone else’s glove. It was someone else trying to swallow their uncertainties.

“I’ve had fun with you,” Sakusa admitted. “I guess.”

“Then go out with me,” Atsumu insisted. He squeezed Sakusa’s hand in his own.

Over Atsumu’s shoulder, Sakusa’s eyes stopped on a painting depicting snowy mountains. He moved towards it, his answer to Atsumu’s demands fading out of existence. He didn’t shake off Atsumu’s grip on him, though. Instead, he pulled Atsumu along with him.

Standing directly in front of the artwork made it easier to distinguish the other forms in the painting. Above the mountain peaks was the slender serpentine form of a dragon made with delicate brush strokes. It was eerily familiar to Sakusa. He recalled a piece of silver jewelry, heavy in his hand and now stashed in his apartment.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa finally said. “I think we need to talk.”

::

The sky was still a blue that could have been black by the time they exited the museum. The stars were visible in the clear night. They walked with their hands still linked, Atsumu swinging their arms back and forth as he hummed. The mood was entirely mismatched to the events of the night.

Sakusa had told Atsumu about the ring he had found at the shrine and its similarity to the dragon in the painting. There was nothing that could be done with the information, since neither knew what the significance of the creature was in relation to the town’s predicament. The mysteries kept piling up, water against a structurally unsound dam. Waiting to drown them.

Atsumu almost didn’t care. Between them, Atsumu was nurturing another secret. It grew long vines that embraced him. Tied his hands. Coiled around his throat and threatened to suffocate him. Produced colorful blooms like consolation prizes. Mourning bouquets.

This secret belonged to both of them, though. Their first shared possession. It had actually been Sakusa’s idea, presented to Atsumu under the watchful gaze of a marble statue during their exploration of the museum. It was a safety net, laid out primarily for Atsumu’s benefit. Sakusa had reasoned that it wouldn’t be acceptable for a god to be seen romancing the town’s biggest outcast. Atsumu briefly bemoaned the inability to flaunt his fledgling relationship, but it was for the best that there would be no chance of Osamu discovering his personal association with Sakusa.

“You can tell your brother,” Sakusa said as they approached the bookstore.

“Huh?” Atsumu released Sakusa’s hand as Sakusa reached to unlock the door in order to go upstairs to his apartment.

“Osamu.” Sakusa glanced at Atsumu from the corners of his eyes. “You can tell him that you’re seeing me now. No one else. It’s probably better he heard it from you than find out by some accident.”

“Er.” Atsumu scratched the back of his neck. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“As I can be about anything knowing I’d date you.” Sakusa slipped in the door, closing it in Atsumu’s face before Atsumu could pursue the matter further.

What was the point of a secret if it wasn’t kept from everyone?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honesty is the best policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: confessions

Sometimes it took only an absentminded touch to topple a structure. The occurrence was caused by a combination of factors. An incomplete blueprint. An unstable foundation. Cheap materials. Reflecting on the roads traveled to reach disaster revealed that all the wrong dots had been on the page. The designer clearly hadn’t understood the desired result. Some naive individual was left to connect everything into a misshapen monstrosity.

Despite an absence of bad intentions on the part of the heavy hand that brought to ruin a thing struggling for life, the damage was done. It became a question of whether there was something to be salvaged from the wreckage. Had something survived the collapse?

Sakusa spent his morning constructing a list of possibilities. His own predictions. An catalog of sorts. The components of this fragile invention doctored from incompatible expectations and ambitions. The hazards surrounding them like small plastic building blocks, barbs of ill wishes capable of dropping them to their knees. The benefits and disadvantages, calculating worth and desire and trying to decide which was more important. He teetered between the two, a pendulum still trying to settle.

Dating Atsumu was a trek across frozen ground with socks as your only footwear. Sakusa felt unbalanced, sliding at a pace he couldn’t control. A new endeavor, pursued on a whim. Complicated by his own selfishness. Sakusa didn’t know what it meant to share, to distribute the burden of holding something precious and secret between himself and another. The tension in his shoulders increased when he reminded himself that the backlash would be worse for Atsumu than it would be for him.

Akaashi watched his boss dust the same bookcase for the third time that afternoon. It wasn’t Sakusa’s usual meticulous cleaning habits. It was a type of wasteful that Sakusa rarely indulged in. Akaashi turned away, resuming his task of sorting a recent collection of books they had received. Sakusa’s thoughts were just as much Akaashi’s business as anything else in his personal life, which is to say not all.

The door opened, silent under a considerate touch. Akaashi didn’t take notice, preoccupied with the more lively books that sought to escape his grasp and perch in random spots. Sakusa, however, easily noticed the movement in his peripheral. He was attentive in that sense, efficient to judge whether a new addition to the situation was urgent enough to make him temporarily put down his anxieties.

“Sakusa,” Suna greeted. He was hugging three thick volumes against his chest. He used his foot to shut the door, though he did so gingerly. Sakusa did not think of Atsumu.

“Suna.” Sakusa motioned towards Akaashi, who he had hired for these exact scenarios. Sakusa had taken all steps to minimize interactions with customers.

“Hello, Suna.” The owl spirit donned the role of polite employee with ease. He wasn’t nearly as social as Hinata, but he was more of a conversationalist than Sakusa. The distance between the two ends of the scale was admittedly at least an ocean’s width. “Did you need to extend the loan on those?”

“Ah, no. I actually finished these two.” Suna approached the counter where Akaashi had taken up Sakusa’s typical place and set down two books with red velvet covers. He passed the third, a smaller work bound in brown leather, directly to Akaashi. “I was hoping to purchase this one.”

“That’s one of my favorite stories,” Akaashi commented. “Have you finished it yet?”

“Almost. I’m going to start over, though. Osamu has been bugging me to read it to him.” Suna held his hand over the counter as it melted into water, dropping four smooth rocks onto the wooden surface. Unburdened from the weight of the stones, his hand condensed into solid form again. “Are these okay? They were shaped by a river guardian. They can purify water. Good luck, too.”

“Sure.” Akaashi gathered the rocks in his hands and stored them under the counter. He then returned the book to Suna’s outstretched hand. “How is Osamu doing?”

“He’s been feeling a bit under the weather.” Sakusa’s attention was drawn in by mention of Osamu. He wasn’t particularly close to Osamu. The man’s disdain for Sakusa was greater than Atsumu’s had been. Less pronounced. More calculating.

“Did you finish making-”

“I’ll tell you about it another time,” Suna interrupted. He tucked his purchase under his arm and turned to leave. “I don’t want it getting around too much. It needs to still be a surprise by the time I show Osamu.”

On his way out, Suna stopped next to Sakusa. He tried to keep a respectful distance but stood closer than he knew Sakusa preferred. He didn’t regularly seek to disregard Sakusa’s boundaries, but it was difficult to whisper with too much space between them. It didn’t give them complete privacy with Akaashi’s sensitive hearing, but Suna knew that Akaashi didn’t make concerted efforts to eavesdrop on private conversations or remember any information he wasn’t supposed to know.

“Nothing personal,” Suna murmured, “But you should probably stay away from Atsumu as much as you can help.”

Sakusa’s brain immediately began doing laps around every interaction he had had with Atsumu recently. He timed each stretch, evaluating whether they were suspicious. He counted the number of witnesses present during their encounters. He appraised the words traded back and forth. He guessed at the probability that Atsumu had already dropped their secret somewhere incriminating.

“Osamu's just worried about his brother,” Suna added. “Not that I think you’re that bad of a guy, but he thinks you’re gonna get Atsumu into some real trouble. Something about curses and bad luck. I have to admit, you don’t do much to make any friends around here either.”

With that, Suna took his leave just as quietly as he had arrived. Suna wasn’t spiteful. Sakusa had observed him over the past year and concluded that he lacked the interest in most areas required to act on any strong emotions. He was simply blunt. Even when he cared about something, he maintained an impression of being removed. A casual bystander. If Suna indulged in sentiment, Sakusa was not privy to such occurrences.

That was enough for Sakusa to understand that Suna had not aimed for the cracks in his resolve. It happened by chance. The consequences? Unintended. Unanticipated. It wasn’t that Sakusa blamed Suna. There was nothing for which to hold him liable. Sakusa had only his doubts to keep him company, and how could he accuse the one thing that never left his side?

::

If the fox gods’ shrine was their own property made public domain, or perhaps collectively owned space made theirs, then their house was the realm of the private. The Miya brothers lived unexpectedly domestic lives within the walls of their cozy home. Cooking. Reading. Arguing. Sleeping. No one presumed themselves important enough to demand the twin's attention when they retreated within the walls bordering their modest property. The closest anyone ventured towards disturbing them during their personal time was delivering letters, written requests for their aid, for them to review at their convenience.

Thus, it was a shock to hear an even two knocks against their front door at a time when most people had turned in for the night. They never locked the gate outside, but Suna was the only person willing to step onto their property. He rarely knocked, though, having already far exceeded the prerequisite level of familiarity with the Miyas for barging into their space. Besides, Suna had promised his day to guest teaching at the town’s high school and had likely gone straight to bed after. The twins had not planned to host guests.

“Tell whoever that is to leave,” Osamu urged, throwing his pillow over his head to muffle any stimuli from the world around him.

Atsumu trudged to the entryway, prepared to berate whoever was bothering them. He threw the door open, no less rough with his own property that he typically was with Sakusa’s. Waiting outside was said bookseller, hunched in on himself as if in trouble. In a way, he was. His eyes were anything but shy, however. They were black holes, threatening to pull Atsumu in. Unforgiving.

Static played across Atsumu's mind. He pushed all the buttons and turned all the dials, but every channel was empty. This part of the day hadn’t been filmed yet. There were no examples to follow, guides to demonstrate the way this would end.

Before Atsumu could determine the next lines in the script, Sakusa squeezed past him. Atsumu instinctively shuffled to the side, allowing the brooding man inside. Osamu sat up.

“What is he doing here?” Osamu’s eyebrows pulled together. His nose crinkled, the scent of rumors and bad luck and contempt overpowering.

“Er.” Atsumu shut the front door, searching Sakusa’s face for any sort of hint at the answer to Osamu’s question.

Sakusa slipped his shoes off and walked deeper into the house, his steps firm as if he had been there before. He turned back to Atsumu, who was rooted in the entryway. This was not how Atsumu had envisioned bringing home his partner to the family. In fact, he had made no such plans to ever do so.

Gesturing at Osamu with an open hand, Sakusa said in the distant voice of a stranger, “When were you going to tell me that you're not allowed to be around me?”

“I’m just looking out for my brother.” Osamu stood, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He looked up at Sakusa through lashes not unlike his twin’s. “I didn’t think it was unclear that you’re not welcome here.”

“I’m quite aware,” Sakusa snapped, the most inflection in his voice Atsumu had heard in the year he had known the man. “Believe it or not, though, I do have friends. I’m not some movie villain with nothing better to do than wish ill on others.”

“I’m not actually so sure about that.” Osamu’s ears twitched and his tail bristled. “I have a feeling just going to bring ‘Tsumu trouble the same way you’ve brought trouble to our town.”

“I thought you were more logical than that,” Sakusa taunted, still looking at Atsumu. “What evidence do you have to support that I’ve done anything to this place?”

“Wait a minute,” Atsumu interjected. “What’s even happening right now?”

“Your brother’s-” Sakusa pointed at Osamu, earning a scowl. “-boyfriend told me to stay away from you. Were you going to tell me that we’d have to sneak around behind his back forever?”

“‘Samu isn’t my mom. I can do whatever I want,” Atsumu protested. “You’re the one who wanted to keep it a secret anyway.”

“Not from your own family.”

Atsumu didn’t know what to do with the thing unfurling in the middle of the room. Sakusa, thorny and isolated and insensitive towards others, wanted to follow some semblance of etiquette? Responsible. Deferring to the authority of family.

Atsumu tried to imagine another life. One in which there were no magical illnesses to deal with. He would confess to Sakusa in a romantic spot with perfect timing. Under the fireworks at the Fox Festival. They would do remarkably average things together. Replacing museum break ins with long walks together or dates at a cafe. Atsumu would bring Sakusa home for dinner. He and Osamu would get along, bonding over teasing Atsumu. Suna would arrive late, but the rest would be too drunk to care, instead demanding stories of his day to keep them busy.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” Osamu said, tone low.

“What do you think it is?” Sakusa provoked, immature in a way Atsumu had never seen Sakusa allow himself to be.

“The last thing ‘Tsumu needs,” Osamu replied.

“Well?” Sakusa eyed Atsumu. “Am I the last thing you need? Am I as bad as your brother seems to think?”

“Don’t get all mad at me.” Atsumu took a few steps towards Sakusa, hand hovering between them. Osamu frowned, silently daring his brother to take Sakusa’s hand. “I mean, sure. I kind of thought you were cursing the town at first. I don’t really know much about you. Everyone thinks you have spooky powers. You seemed really suspicious hanging out at our shrine.”

“At our shrine?” Osamu questioned, eyebrows shooting up.

“I never thought anything really bad about you, though,” Atsumu continued. “You were weird and maybe a little unsettling, but I don’t think that anymore. You said you have fun with me, yeah? I have fun with you too. I told you, I’m taking this seriously.”

“I- Look-” Sakusa sighed, shoulders heaving. The resigned sound split Atsumu open, forcefully creating a window straight to his heart. He only hoped no one could see the things there, unruly and overgrown. Hesitation. Remorse. Longing. Yet, he wondered what Sakusa was guarding in his own heart. “Let’s talk about this later, Atsumu.”

Sakusa headed towards the entryway, slid his shoes back on, and left as easily as he had come. As the door closed behind him, Osamu sat on his futon again. Atsumu could only stare at the door, mind still struggling to process what had just occurred.

“Man, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu whistled. “You really fucked that one up.”

“Me?” Atsumu shouted. “You’re the one who was giving him a hard time.”

“I’m trying to keep you out of trouble.” Osamu crossed his arms. “The dangerous kind. Not the kind where you tell the guy you’re dating behind your brother’s back that you thought they were cursing a whole town.”

“Do you want me to get along with him or not?” Atsumu groaned. “And I told him I don’t think that anymore.”

“Preferably not.” Osamu closed his eyes and rubbed his face with one hand. “What do you want to do, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu thought of a year’s worth of sour expressions that Sakusa hadn’t reserved for only Atsumu. The new not quite softness that was almost exclusively reserved for Atsumu. The ease of being around Sakusa. The blank spaces, missing parts of a picture, waiting for Atsumu to fill them in. He wasn’t an artist by any means, but he was willing to substitute passion in place of skill in the hopes that Sakusa would find that acceptable enough.

::

Patience rewarded those who extended hospitality. It was a modest guest. It didn’t request entertainment or refreshments. It simply asked for time and no complaint. If treated to those trivial wants, it might return the favor. You could see it off with a new perspective. A level head. An innovative idea. The means to address your problems. Patience did not enjoy more company than one, however. It especially despised impulsivity, greeting it with scorn. Haste was generally enough to earn a premature departure from all others present.

Osamu explained as much to Atsumu. Motivated in part by his dislike of Sakusa and in part by his inclination to protect his brother’s wellbeing, Osamu prevented Atsumu from chasing after Sakusa until at least the next day. He assigned a long list of chores to Atsumu, insisting that he was too unwell to finish them. It wasn’t a lie, and he took advantage of the fact. Atsumu allowed Osamu to do so, sending his Sakusa-related worries to the spot in line behind his Osamu-related concerns. 

The next day, Atsumu hovered around his brother for the entire morning until his interpersonal issues had their number called. Osamu waved Atsumu off, promising that Suna would stop by to check on him and then instructing Atsumu to either break up with Sakusa or talk to him properly. Osamu followed this up with a complaint that he wouldn’t know precisely what type of anger he was supposed to subject Atsumu to until the situation was resolved.

Thus, Atsumu could no longer avoid the problem Suna had inadvertently delivered to him. With the immediate adrenaline of the day prior having faded, Atsumu felt like a banned customer trying to sneak back into a store. It wasn’t an inaccurate estimation, even if the ban was implied rather than explicit.

As he ambled, rather than his usual sprint, towards the bookstore, he considered his predicament, trying to sort the facts and berating himself for being a disorganized person. Suna has spoken to Sakusa. Sakusa knew that Osamu didn’t like him and, more specifically, wanted him to stay away from Atsumu. Sakusa had reacted poorly to the information, despite the obvious distaste that many of the town’s residents expressed regarding Sakusa. Sakusa had responded even more negatively to Atsumu’s admissions about his initial thoughts towards Sakusa. Atsumu couldn’t identify where the malfunction had occurred. How much of the situation was a product of Sakusa’s overreactions? How much of the situation was a product of Atsumu’s underreactions?

Overhead, nature taunted Atsumu with a clear sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. The air was free of humidity. The temperature felt more suited to spring than the current season. Atsumu wrangled his indignation at the slight.

When Atsumu reached the bookstore, he made a subdued entrance for the first time out of his many visits. Akaashi was nearest to the door, wings beating slowly to keep him high enough to retrieve an armful of books. As soon as he saw Atsumu, he forgot his usual greeting in his shock at the normalcy of Atsumu’s arrival. Atsumu gave a sheepish wave. Akaashi nodded in the direction of the counter where Sakusa was reading a thin paperback book with a grey cover devoid of any words or images.

“I’m sorry.” Atsumu threw the apology at Sakusa as he approached.

Sakusa shrugged but didn’t look up. At least, Atsumu thought he saw Sakusa’s shoulders move. The gesture was small enough to be mistaken for breathing. It might as well have been with how little it gave away.

“Please talk to me,” Atsumu begged. He stopped in front of the counter. He didn’t lean against it. “I don’t really know what I did- Well, I know what I did. I don’t know why you’re this mad at me, though.”

Eyes still on the pages, Sakusa said, “It would’ve been nice to know that I’m not going to be welcome at family gatherings. You also could’ve told me you thought I was capable of cursing a whole town, Miya.”

“Cut me some slack here, Omi,” Atsumu groaned. “It was a misunderstanding. I didn’t know you. Then I spent some time with you. Is it so weird for someone to change their mind about someone else?”

“I suppose not.” Sakusa closed his book and placed it on the counter. “If you can change your mind that easily, though, what’s to stop you from changing it again?

Atsumu dragged a hand through his hair. “You’re being awfully stubborn, Omi.”

“Can you blame me for being a bit uneasy, Atsumu?” Sakusa drummed the long, gloved fingers of his left hand against the counter, a stuttering metronome going at the same pace as his heart. Not that he would ever divulge that detail to Atsumu. “It’s a bit daunting for someone who wants to be in a relationship to also think that I’m evil. Yes, I know you said that you don’t think that anymore. It still would’ve been nice to know. I don’t enjoy pretending everything is rosey. We’re not some adolescent summer romance with no concerns in the world.”

The whole situation continued to present Atsumu with facets of Sakusa that he hadn’t thought existed. Petty. Emotional. Sensitive. Invested in a new relationship. Atsumu wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the hidden trap door that had dropped him face first into these realizations again in the future. Despite the unceremonious fall, Atsumu was warming up to his current location. He wondered what other things he could learn about Sakusa.

“I’ll make it up to you. Go on a date with me.” The request tripped off Atsumu’s tongue and out of his mouth before its cue, somehow still sticking the landing. He looked at Akaashi, who dodged his questioning stare and was professional enough to not have been listening even when he was listening. “A work date. I need help testing a few hypotheses.”

The corners of Sakusa’s mouth twitched but didn’t otherwise move, undecided between smiling and frowning. “Where?”

“The cafe down the street,” Atsumu replied without pause.

“When?”

“Now.”

Sakusa relented, chewing off the harsh words that jostled for an opportunity to claw at Atsumu. “I suppose I’ll take my leave early today, Akaashi.”

::

There was only one cafe in town, nestled between a bakery and a grocery store. It was a charming establishment, wearing stereotypes of dainty and cute with effortless confidence. Potted flowers stood out against the brick exterior, paint splatters on an antique canvas. The storefront windows were also embellished, white text reading “Milky Way Cafe”. The minty green front door was propped open by an a-frame chalkboard, denying anyone who might want to hold it open for a stranger or a friend or maybe even a date.

Inside, Atsumu ordered watermelon juice mixed with milk over a glass full of ice. Sakusa raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, judgmental of Atsumu’s choice to waste space on that much ice. Atsumu did the same when Sakusa ordered an iced matcha latte smothered in whipped cream, amused by the uncharacteristic sweetness of Sakusa’s drink preferences.

Once seated in a corner near the front of the cafe, they spent several minutes in unhurried silence. Atsumu observed Sakusa, who was staring at the passersby through the window. Sakusa was dressed in his usual dark attire, looking out of place in the well-lit, pastel-themed building. A tragic lead in a coming of age romance novel, notes for two separate stories in completely different genres jumbled during the planning phase. Atsumu imagined Sakusa visiting the cafe by himself during his free time. Menacing in the middle of a quaint scene. Ordering unhealthy drinks to rot his teeth. Requesting less ice and somehow not getting heat stroke. Content even if you couldn’t tell it from his bland expressions.

“I’m sorry,” Sakusa said simply, gaze still directed out the window.

“Um.” Atsumu searched Sakusa’s profile for any hint at Sakusa’s intentions.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” Sakusa elaborated. “It was unfair of me to react the way I did.”

Again, the genres didn’t match. Sakusa was the model of maturity at that moment. Atsumu couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or exasperated. Or both. He said as much.

“Would it kill you to be a little selfish, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu took a sip at his drink.

Sakusa looked at Atsumu. “That’s exactly the problem, Atsumu. I’ve already been selfish enough.”

Atsumu closed his eyes, the beginnings of a headache threatening him. It was common for him to get lost in Sakusa’s logic. However, this time, it was the lack of predictable reasoning that pushed him away from any sense of understanding he could have hoped for. When he had thought Sakusa wanted to be a bit greedy, Sakusa decided to change course?

“After this situation is properly dealt with and your brother recovers,” Sakusa added, deftly maneuvering to a topic with relevance that wasn’t initially apparent to Atsumu, “I’m moving.”

“Moving,” Atsumu echoed.

“I haven’t told him yet, but I’ll give Akaashi ownership of the store.” Sakusa stirred the whipped cream into his latte with his straw. “I think it’s time to move on from here.”

Atsumu was watching their relationship, barely anything more than a clump of ice trying to be a snowball, melt. It hadn’t even been given a chance to exist. They were still in the earliest stages of making it.

“What about-”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t break up with you on our first date.” A corner of Sakusa’s lips pulled upwards, teasing, before settling into a softer expression. “It’s not that I dislike you, Atsumu. I was actually planning to leave before all of this. There’s not much point staying in a place where you aren’t welcome. Let’s just enjoy this while we have it, all arguments called off.”

Once more, Sakusa wasn’t following his archetype. He wasn’t supposed to be the type to apologize and tease and want to have fun with another person. Atsumu didn’t even know what Sakusa did for fun. How could there already be an expiration date on figuring it out?

_He has fun with you_ , Atsumu’s traitorous brain reminded him. _And you have fun with him_.

Atsumu’s own story already had a mystery to solve. He didn’t need Sakusa to bring another to their overlapping narratives. Not when this one wasn’t nearly as important as the first. There wasn’t enough time before the final chapter to wrap up all of the plotlines. For someone who did everything as thoroughly as Sakusa did, this was quite the oversight. Atsumu hadn’t known until then how much Sakusa could deviate from a plan.

_You really are unfair, Omi_ , Atsumu thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fear of commitment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu fluff week prompt: proposal
> 
> a bit of an interlude

The way morals gifted gods with holiness had always been a fountain of sorts. A self-sufficient cycle. It was only newly discovered that the process might be more of a sink. Easily stopped and drained away. Well, not so easily on command. Perhaps it was a plastic cup with a hole cut out from the bottom. It hadn’t been included in the original design. Someone had made efforts to interfere. That much had been clear from the beginning, though. What this unknown party was gaining from the mess they had caused was still unknown.

Osamu arranged his options in a neat bouquet. The blossoms complimented each other well, but he wasn’t pleased with any of them. He wanted to start over, but anything better was already sold out. Until Atsumu found more information, Osamu had to live with the symptoms of this strange illness. He sighed, allowing himself a dramatically loud exhale, and continued cutting sun-dried tomatoes in preparation for the first meal he felt well enough to stand and cook.

“Don’t be so depressed,” Atsumu called from a room over. “You should be happy you’re not on your ass all day anymore.”

Osamu’s tail swished back and forth. Happiness was relative. He couldn’t find it in himself to be overjoyed at his physical recovery. Relieved was probably a better word for it. There was still his magic to worry about. He wasn’t uncontrollably stopping time or shapeshifting or anything else of the sort. That problem had been replaced by an issue that was basically the opposite. Osamu now had zero access to his magic. It was a pathetic state for a guardian deity to be in.

Atsumu entered the room, tracking water across the floor. He was dressed in loungewear and had a towel thrown over his shoulders, presumably to dry his dripping hair. He flicked his ears a few times, splashing water on any surfaces brave enough to be near him.

“Dry off properly for once,” Osamu instructed Atsumu, switching his attention to the task of frying four strips of bacon.

Atsumu ignored the order, instead sitting on the floor next to the round table he had returned to their living space after Osamu had put away the futon he had previously been occupying more often than not. Atsumu stretched across the small piece of furniture, his head a heavy rain cloud over the wood. He pressed his cheek against the surface. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was somewhere else.

“So,” Atsumu mumbled, “When are you going to tell Suna?”

“Tell him what?” Osamu asked absently, prodding at the bacon with chopsticks.

“That you’re breaking up with him.” Atsumu reached up to pull the towel over his head, a makeshift blanket to hide under.

“Eh- what?” Osamu jerked, dropping the chopsticks in his hand and bumping the handle of the pan with his arm as he turned to scowl at Atsumu. “What are you talking about?”

“Your weird angst about being a normal person for who knows how long.” 

“I-” Osamu retrieved the fallen chopsticks, placed them in the sink, and rummaged in a nearby drawer for another pair. “It’s a valid concern. It’s not like Suna wants to be with a human.”

“You’re not human, though,” Atsumu responded, giving a halfhearted gesture in the direction where he heard Osamu’s voice. “Ears. Tail. Shrine dedicated to you. It’s not a big deal if you can’t use magic.”

Osamu returned to his original task, flipping the bacon and frowning. “It’s not breaking up permanently. Just spending some time apart until my magic comes back.”

“And if it doesn’t? You’re going to let that ruin your relationship?” Atsumu didn’t think about his own relationship, pushed to teetering on the edge of a mountainside cliff by a series of miscommunications.

The front door clicked open. Atsumu raised his head to see Suna enter and pull it closed behind him. He slid his shoes off, free hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle that was tinted pink. He raised the bottle in greeting. Osamu, biting the inside of his cheek, didn’t look at Suna, the excuse of making sure the bacon didn’t burn waiting on his tongue. 

“Speak of the asshole,” Atsumu yelled, banging his fists on the table. “Suna, you’re a lifesaver. Give me the alcohol.”

Suna obliged. Osamu leaned his hip against the counter, angling his body so he could observe the interaction. With more formality than Suna typically used around the twins, he held out the bottle of sake to Atsumu. It was almost reverent. A humble mortal presenting an offering to a god. It was a stark contrast to all the times Suna had teased the twins that they were “hardly worthy of any sort of worship or ceremony”.

“I thought I said you don’t need to bring anything when you come over,” Osamu said. He could remember the conversation vividly. Soon after meeting Suna for the first time, Osamu had whined about wanting them to be ordinary friends. Bringing gifts or food was banned behavior. Osamu has claimed that it would only feel like a shrine visit.

“Marry me, you stupid bastard,” Suna demanded. The rice cooker on the counter beeped in agreement.

Osamu turned off the stove and put the chopsticks on the counter. “What the fuck, Rin?”

“You heard me.” Suna took a step closer to Osamu. “Atsumu told me about all the weird ideas you’ve been getting into your head, so I came to tell you that I don’t care. God or mortal. We’ve never cared about those things before. Why start now?”

“You hardly know who I am without-” Osamu waved his hands at their surroundings. He also made a mental note to yell at his brother after Suna left.

“What does that even mean?” Suna interrupted, rubbing at his temples with both hands.

“You’re aware that I never wanted you to treat me like a god.” Osamu shuffled past Suna, abandoning his cooking and sitting at the table across from Atsumu. In all of his current mortality, the line of his jaw and the curve of his back might as well have been the elegant depiction of a god, a statue too beautiful to be mortal. Almost too beautiful to be made by mortals. His gaze had enough power to replace all of the magic that was missing. Even with a frown on his face, Suna thought he was ethereal. “That doesn’t mean it’s not a part of me. There’s no way for you to know that you still like me without that part. You don’t know who I am anymore.”

Suna joined Osamu at the table, crossing his legs so their knees touched from where he was right next to Osamu. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t know who you are anymore.”

Suna met Osamu’s stare, searching for whatever was lurking behind the curtain of authority that Osamu always kept drawn. He had years of practice at finding the perfect angle to see inside. With the right timing, Osamu even provided his own lighting, illuminating the forms of everything he was hoarding. Boxes full of every uncertainty he had ever played with even once.

“You think one bottle of sake is enough for me to marry my brother off to a rogue like you?” Atsumu interjected.

“No one asked you, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu retorted. “Mind your own business for once.”

“I’ll have you know, ‘Samu,” Atsumu declared, “That it’s thanks to me you’re engaged now.”

Osamu eyed Suna once more. He allowed Suna to have a peak at the shape of what might have been anxiety or self-doubt, packed tight with self-imposed isolation and selfish decisions made impulsively in the way he always warned Atsumu not to do.

“I’ve always been certain, stupid,” Suna whispered.

The exchange didn’t go unnoticed by Atsumu. The proposal had been long overdue, in his opinion, and he also knew that Suna still had one more gift that he was preparing to make it official. They were a decent match for each other. Two fools. Most of their edges lined up, and they had a long history of filling in any of the cracks. Despite being a deity, Osamu often lacked initiative and conviction towards his own interests when it came to personal matters.

Atsumu considered himself, filled with many of the same doubts to the brink of overflowing but infinitely more straightforward with them. Yet, he had nothing to show for it. He couldn’t figure out the proper approach. How was he supposed to fix the situation without making a mess everywhere?

::

Consideration, contrary to evidence, was not a stranger to Sakusa. It wasn’t quite a friend either. They were begrudging acquaintances, forced together by circumstances rather than free will. The common factor in most of their interactions was Sakusa’s cousin. Komori rarely entertained Sakusa’s tactless whims. In return, Sakusa made corrections to his behavior when Komori expressed frustration with him. However, he often exchanged annoying habits for other equally inconveniencing ones.

Komori answered the phone on the first ring. “Can’t you call me at normal times, Kiyoomi?”

“It’s seven,” Sakusa protested, voice flat. He watched a grey cat that was perched in his open window, wondering if it was a stray.

“Exactly.” Komori was quiet. Sakusa heard another person’s voice but was unable to piece together anything coherent. “It’s too late for this, Kiyoomi. I’m trying to wind down for the day, not get stressed about whatever stupid things are going on over there.”

“Can I stay with you for a bit?” Sakusa threw the question out carelessly. The way you might ask to borrow a laptop charger or for an opinion on an outfit. It wasn’t as if Komori was planning to give him enough space to slide it in.

“Is it about that illness you mentioned?” A door closed in the background. “You’re not going to catch it. You’re the cleanest person I know.”

“It’s not about that.” Sakusa inched closer to the cat, wondering if he could assert his dominance by spraying it with disinfectant. He quickly dismissed the idea, deeming it objectively inhumane. “It's the same as the previous town.”

Komori inhaled deeply, as if he could cleanse himself with new air in his body. “When are you leaving?”

“Not sure yet.” The cat meowed at Sakusa before beginning to groom itself, licking at one paw and then brushing at its head. “Probably in a few weeks. I won’t stay for long. Just until I find a new place.”

“You really don’t have anyone there you get along with?” It wasn’t an outright rejection. Sakusa knew that Komori would agree if he insisted. They actually typically coexisted under the same roof with little conflict, well-adjusted to each other’s living habits.

Sakusa examined his mental garden, not unlike the infestation of real plants in his apartment. He kept a detailed list of the needs of each concern. The things that exacerbated them. The things that soothed them. Necessities lived there too, although they were much easier to tame and less nagging for the attention. Then there were the creatures that he tried to starve, depriving them of water or sunlight in hopes of killing them. Yet, they found ways to curl themselves around the floorboards and inside the walls. Every day that Sakusa tried to ignore them, they only crept into the more private parts of his life.

Honey eyes and mischievous smile. Complexion lively in a surprisingly mundane and mortal way. Body heat that could be felt even through gloves. Fun-loving. Fun to be around. Sacred. Criminal on the next beat. Noisy. No concept of personal space. Ridiculously annoying. Something Sakusa continued failing to starve.

“No, not really,” Sakusa answered. The cat leapt down from its perch and into Sakusa’s apartment, an unwanted but not disliked guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking some time off from this to focus on other projects and life stuff, but will definitely be back eventually! See you again whenever I crawl my way back onto ao3! -(2021/2/28)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for spending some time with my writing! I'll write more fic eventually but probably not soon. Until then, you can find me making art at [Twitter](https://twitter.com/teahex).


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